Somebody Has a Case of the Tuesdays

To paraphrase T.S. Eliot, Tuesday is the cruelest day. Monday suffers the ignoble reputation of most dreaded weekday, but I declare that it is unearned. Blame Garfield the Cat's propaganda mill. For Monday carries the bittersweet hangover of weekend's felicity, the work day tempered by remnants of Sunday's lazy beatitude. Water cooler Iagos may claim we are most rudely delivered from weekend's womb into the cruelties of the so-aptly named "grind," but the memory of blessed freedom warms us in the cold light of office wasteland.

Wednesday, dutifully marking the work week's acme, begins the slide into Friday's dulcimer deliverance. Thursday offers up proximate promises of Friday and, until most recently, amusing NBC situation-comedies.

Yet Tuesday offers no light at tunnel's end, naught but flourescent purgatory; Dante abandoned by Virgil to drift in a sea of cubicles. Curse thee, abhorrent middle-child of the work week!