I keep thinking today is Thursday. It’s not; it’s Wednesday. That’s unfortunate, too, because Thursday usually means wrapping up the week’s homework with the kids, looking forward to “casual day”, and, if I’m lucky, designating it Beer and A Movie Night. Wednesday, on the other hand, means baseball practice, more homework, taking the recycling out, and wondering if I’ll get though the day without any yogurt-brained yeehaw acting like that whole camel/hump day thing is actually funny at this point.
It’s not helping that Oldest Son’s baseball practice has already been cancelled for the evening, as apparently the boys’ practice field conditions are somewhat less than optimal. But, then, considering the sky vomited weather last night like a fraternity on dollar Jager-bomb night*, that coach’s cancellation email didn’t come as much of a surprise. Considering what it was like last night, his team’ll be lucky to hit the field again before Memorial Day.
Oh, yeah, you weren’t there last night. Here, I took some helpful video:
I know, right?
Anyway, rain notwithstanding, tonight’s cancellation doubled down on my already “Feelin’ Thursday” situation because it means I don’t have to go anywhere tonight. No practices, no errands, no sitting in the car (or an uncomfortable set of bleachers) with a book and a pale, drooping sun. Since Thursday is only night of the week I occasionally have a reprieve from the Uber-Dad** routine, it makes sense why I’m feeling Thursday.
Which is why tomorrow morning’s alarm clock is going to be a sadistic monster. Because I’ll no doubt wake up and believe that for a few, brief, precious ticks of the clock, that it’s Friday. That I can wear jeans into the the office and not tuck in my shirt, that the work day will end early and evening will be filled with laughter, mojitos, and a patio lit with only bug-repelling tiki torches and string of Christmas lights.
Well, okay, so my Friday nights are basically never filled with mojitos or a patio set like a Corona commercial. Plus, it’s still April, meaning the sub 70 degree temps we’ll be experiencing in this neck of the woods on Friday night isn’t exactly conducive to the pretending San Miguel is all around us.
But, whatever! I’m still going to feel cheated at 6:37 AM tomorrow, when it inevitably strikes me that it’s still actually Thursday and not the Friday of my dreams. And that I have to wear Dockers and uncomfortable shoes to work.
Which leaves me with basically one and only one reasonable option. I think I might need to take some of my extra free time tonight and go to the bookstore tonight. Because the bookstore is never a bad idea, and then tomorrow morning, even as I’m beginning to come to terms with living Thursday twice, at least I can look at all the new books I impulse bought with a smile.
Pud’n
*that is, forcefully, uncontrollably, and continually
**I really want Uber-Dad to mean, like SuperDad! or WonderDad!, but it most cases, it really just means…Taxi Dad.
Puddintopia 
I hope Thursday was not too much of a drag, after all.
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