It’s one of those days. Yesterday, all of us worker types effectively won at Monday by spending Labor Day avoiding labors and instead lounged lazily in a scene of Greco-Roman-style excess. You know how that goes, right? Being all laid out on a burgundy velvet chaise wearing naught but a Snuggie (the modern-equivalent of a togo, obviously) while scantily-clad humans of the preferred gender fed us tasty nibbley bits of our favorite snacks.
In my case it those would be taquitos and pizza rolls, but there’s plenty of room in this ridiculous yarn for personal taste(s).
At any rate, we vanquished Monday, stabbing it in it’s soft, rarely exposed underbelly.
Unfortunately Monday, much like an obstinate toddler ramped up on sugar and Dora videos after a babysitting stint with the grandparents, rarely goes down without a fierce struggle. Which is why we find ourselves dragging our feet on a Tuesday, befuddled like an old guy in a modern day coffee shop wondering why in the hell he can’t just get a damn cup of joe from an embittered, white-haired old woman with a voice like a cement-mixer, the personality of a scouring pad, less than an ounce of putting-up-with-your-bullshit, and a deeply hidden heart of gold.
Today is the kind of day that I would expect someone cleverer than myself, someone with a more vibrant and slightly off-kilter imagination, perhaps Dr. Seuss or even the Mad Hatter, to give a memorable label.
Perhaps something like “Not-Day.” Because it’s not really Tuesday, as it’s still the first of the week, yet it’s not really Monday either, since (as mentioned above) we beat that rotten thing to within an inch of it’s devious, weekend-ruining life yesterday.
A Not-Day is a lost day
A want-less day.
‘Tis not the day you don’t
(Monday)
Nor seems the day you do
(Tuesday)
A shuffling, bumbling, rumbling
head-scratching, brow-raising
wandering in the fog day
betwixt the right and wrong.
A Not-Day is a lost day
Normally, I’m like everyone else on a Not-Day. I feel out-of-place and –sorts, and often end up doing the Monday things even though I should be doing the Tuesday. Indeed, that’s how I started today, which inevitably lead to the unnerving sense that I was wearing the wrong skin, or at maybe the right skin on the wrong day.
But then I realized: there are a limit to the number of Not-Days in one’s life. And while we should all live everyday as if we were it’s King or Queen, the Emperor of our own existence, the Captain of our own ship, the unfortunate truth is that, well, on a daily basis, that approach is often about as practical as trying to reach the moon by jumping.
Fact is, most of us skate through our days clinging, white-knuckled, to the rituals that move us dependably from point A to point B. We pray to reach point F at the end of the week without too many skinned knees, missing teeth, or broken bones.
But I say Not Today!
Today is a Not-Day, true, but henceforth, I say we make the Not-Day not a lost day but rather a found day.
The Not-Day is not a day for crouching or skating.
The Not-Day is a day for standing and running,
for bolding roaring.
To sound one’s barbaric yawp,
in case the sound is forgotten.
The Not-Day, if no other day, is a day to be a Lion.
So, Go!
Confidently go! Forward, to stalk, hunt, and capture the day.
This day. Today.
This Not-Day.
I will make it mine. You can make it yours.
Let it not be lost anymore.
Pud’n
PS: Don’t forget a bunch of coffee. I seem to have gotten my share and then some this morning.
Puddintopia 