Not every Tuesday is equal, but there is still hope

Tuesday has always been one of my favorite days. Could it be that I have held an affinity for Tuesdays since the last full day in my mother's womb in early December, 1956? Is that too silly or just gross? No, Tuesdays seem to be the day in which you catch the week by the collar and feel like something is manageable. Not like Wednesday, when you begin to lose your grasp on the things you wanted to do and the weekend is too far away. Or Thursday, when the work of the week is coming to an end and you can feel the sheer pleasure of the coming weekend. Or Friday, when you say, "Oh, what the Hell." and head into the weekend with your head down and a survivor's grin on your face. Or Saturday, when everything speeds along with you to a point where you hopefully fall back into the peacefulness of the late afternoon's dying color. Or Sunday, when your body drags and feels the pull of gravity and you can't move they way you want to or need to and you sullenly drift toward Monday. And the beginning of another week and the hope of things accomplished.