I hate Tuesday
I hate it more than anything
It is the bane of my existence
It is the center of my pain
April 7th 1998
The date of my birth
Was a Tuesday
And I bet I’ll die on a Tuesday
But maybe not
Because nothing good ever happens on a Tuesday
And dying on a Tuesday
Always sounds pretty nice
Monday at least offers hope, the promise of something new
Wednesday is a goal, a halfway point
Thursday is practically Friday
And Friday
Is Friday
But Tuesday,
Tuesday is when the doubt sinks in
Tuesday is when Friday seems farthest
And the sleep deprivation settles in
To the open apartments of your eyelids
And your spirit and willpower and heart go south
Tuesday is when you hate yourself
Tuesday is when everyone hates you
Tuesday is the friend nobody wants at the lunch table
But you can’t just tell it to leave
Tuesday is the the person on their phone in a movie theatre
Tuesday is the person who walks too slowly in the halls
And puts gum anywhere other than the trash
And never shuts up
Tuesday is a colossal jerk
I hate Tuesday
And Tuesday hates me
I just googled “good things about tuesday”
And according to user “Uncle Billy 6”
On Yahoo Answers
A good thing about Tuesday
Is that it’s double coupons day at the liquor store
So there you go
Tuesday is good day for crippling alcoholism
And user “Tapestry 6” says that
Good things are likely to happen on a Tuesday
However she presents no reasons as to why
No scientific evidence to back herself up
And is probably stupid and doesn’t know anything
So f*** you Tapestry 6
You’re probably stupid
And don’t know anything
And according to the guy sitting next to me
Reading my poem
Tuesdays mean 50 cent wings
At Buffalo Wild Wings
So I guess that's ok
If you like feeding the
Dead cold heart of american consumerism
On top of the fact I don’t even like wings
Especially because all my friends like wings
So I have to make excuses about how I just ate
Or I’m allergic
Or some other excuse
Because on Tuesdays you don’t feel like putting up
With people trying to understand why you don’t like wings
Or ketchup
Or peanut butter
On tuesdays you just want to go home
And just hide under your blankets
And pretend it’s
Any
Other
Day
Than Tuesday
Because Tuesday
Is pain
The sharp consonant sound
Of the “tue”
Searing into my eardrums
Scratching
Clawing
Boiling my existence
Grinding my soul
Into dust
I’m aware that this is just my own self fulfilling prophecy
My attitude is indeed the reason I hate Tuesdays so much
I’m sure that in reality
Just as many bad things happen to me
On any other day of the week
But I’m writing this poem on a Monday
And I know Tuesday is lurking around the dirty street corner
Of my life
So I have more important things to worry about