September 06th, 2018

I don't know about you but as much as I enjoy a 3-day weekend, and believe me I so totally do, my internal clock and calendar is messed up for the rest of the week.

Today is Thursday. Normally Thursday is the eve of Happy Dance Friday, y'know?   The weekend is very nearly in sight.  I can start getting a little bit excited.  Thursday is the day that, traditionally, I  tell myself to just Hang in there for only a couple more days and then it's Woohoo! Weekend!

But the week that follows a 3-day weekend, I have no idea what any day is. Even the 3-day weekend itself is a little confusing. Every single day feels like Saturday.  So it's three Saturday's in a row. And while it's nice, it throws every day that follows that off kilter.

If Saturday is Saturday, and Sunday is Saturday and then Monday is Saturday then Tuesday is Sunday? No wait Tim is back working at his desk it must be Monday. Except that it's actually Tuesday.  It's a MondayTuesday. That's the worst sort of Tuesday.

All week long I've had to be constantly checking my desk calendar to reassure myself I was in the right place at the right time and that is unusual for me. 

Like most people, there is a rhythm to my week.  Certain things that happen certain days.  For instance, I change sheets on Mondays.  I'm not sure how that came to be, but Monday has been sheet changing day for long enough that it's my pattern.  Tuesday mornings find me at Pilates class first thing.  Wednesdays mornings I go to the gym with Tim bright and early.  Thursdays I teach my ESL student.  Fridays...well you get the idea.  Certain things happen on certain days. 

If you accused me of being in a rut, that would probably be fair to say, but it's just how things happen.  By way of example:

Our garbage trucks pick up on Mondays and Thursdays. Which means, I have to remember to gather said garbage and take it to the curb Sunday and Wednesday nights.  Because it's a nice constant, I have no problem remembering to do this.  There is no last minute panic stricken hearing the big old truck rumble and clank down the road and running outside in my PJ's dragging cans from the side of the house toward the street yelling, "Wait! Wait!" which I have seen happen. Just not at my house.  Because I am in tune with the rhythm of it all. Except on a three day weekend when there was no pick up on  Monday. But of course, since Sunday felt like Saturday, there was no issue with me remembering to bring the garbage to the curb anyway so I suppose that worked out.

On Wednesday and Saturday we get two newspapers, the big one out of Tampa and the local paper from here in Venice.  So if I walk to the end of the driveway early in the morning and see two newspapers, I can at least whittle the possibilities of what day it is down to two.  If one of those people forgets to deliver our paper, I have no idea what day it is.

For whatever reason, I tend to do my grocery shopping on Thursdays.  If you see me at the grocery store, odds are really good it's a Thursday.  If you see me at the grocery store on a day other than Thursday it means I forgot something absolutely essential and I'm running in for just that one item.

If I am at the museum, you can bank that it's the middle of the week because Wednesday is my museum day. (Except in August when the museum is closed of course which is an entire other issue.  What do I do with myself on Wednesday if I'm not at the museum?)

Friday has become bathroom cleaning day. Not quite sure how that happened, but every Friday, armed with lots of cleaning stuff and a stern attitude, I scrub both bathrooms to within an inch of it's tile.  And since I'm already in full on cleaning mayhem mode, generally that means the rest of the house needs to submit to my  ministrations too even though I've already done at least a half-assed job of cleaning earlier in the week.  Tidying happens all the time. I tend to clean as I go. But it's not the whoa baby level of cleaning that happens on Fridays. Maybe it's just like putting an exclamation point at the end of a sentence. Because unless I make one hell of a mess in the kitchen over the weekend, cleaning is not on my weekend agenda.

So you see, all this week I've been utterly perplexed.  I have no idea what day it is, what time it is or what I was supposed to be doing. I've felt unsettled and a little, well, just wrong.  No day has felt like what it is.  It wasn't immobilizing of course.  I figured it out.  I ended up being where I was supposed to be and doing what I was supposed to do. But, even so,  every day this week felt like I was wearing someone else's shoes and they didn't fit quite right.  It's okay.  I mean nobody else can see that it's wrong. But I can feel it and it bugs the heck outta me.

Maybe it's just me.  Maybe every other person on the planet has no problem at all adapting to the week that follows at 3-day weekend. Could be. I'm that kind of weird for sure.

I did love seeing Tim relax and enjoy three days off in a row and getting to hang out with him. That was awesome.  And I do remember how it felt when I was still working to have those three consecutive days  with no obligation other than the ones I chose to have.  But even back when I did have an office to be at most work days, the week following that 3-day weekend was killer.  And secretly I was always relieved to get back into the rhythm of a "normal" week afterwards. 
 
I guess it's just part of the price we pay for the 3-day weekend.