Why I Hate Tuesdays.
A rant about Tuesdays, written on a Tuesday.
"There's no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind
Ain't life unkind?”
-Ruby Tuesday, The Rolling Stones
I tend to get migraines on Tuesdays. I tend to notice illness setting in on Tuesdays. I tend to wake up with a sledgehammer in my eye on Tuesdays. I tend to lose muscle function, language processing, and the ability to hold a conversation on Tuesdays. I had my first seizure on a Tuesday. And I can’t help but wonder if there is some kind of cosmic meaning in that.
The word 'Tuesday' is derived from the Old English word 'Tiwesdæg,' meaning Tiw’s Day. Tiw is the Norse God of combat, inspired by the planet Mars and its blood-colored dust. On Tiwesdæg, Tiw opens fire on the world. Inspired by the deity from which the day got its name, on Tiwesdæg, my brain often opens fire on itself.
It is my personal opinion that Tuesdays are useless. I find them to be the most boring, monotonous days of the week- also the most painful. It is no longer the beginning, yet so far still from the end. Tuesdays are a reminder of all the things to come, all the worries to surface, and stressful tasks to work on. Nothing good ever happens on a Tuesday.
September 11th happened on a Tuesday. Columbine happened on a Tuesday. Black Tuesday, as you may have guessed, happened on a Tuesday. The Challenger Spaceship disintegrated on a Tuesday, killing all of its passengers. Donald Trump was elected on a Tuesday. A man named Simon on Reddit got divorced on a Tuesday and was diagnosed with cancer the following Tuesday.
Elvis, the King of Rock, died on the toilet on a Tuesday. The “Day the Music Died” also happened to be a Tuesday, when the airplane spiraled out of the sky. On Tuesdays, Catholics tend to confess their sins, speaking their unholy truths into the universe. And on every other Tuesday, my neurotransmitters misfire in every direction.
If I were to place a bet on which day of the week a meteor were to strike us all dead, I would bet it to be a Tuesday.
In Japanese, the word for Tuesday is 火曜日 (Ka-yoo-bi), which translates also to Fire Day. I found this humorous to learn about. Fire day, the day my brain misfires. Fire day, the day I spend with my head under a pillow crying, out of fear of getting fired. Fire day, the day my skin burns like it’s on fire. I guess that the term fire day works for me, it makes sense in my personal understanding of its meaning. Apparently, it is supposed to follow the warm-up day Monday, being the day you’re “fired up and ready to go!” But I perceive this more as the day I am burning down to the base again.
In Greek and Spanish cultures, Tuesday is considered an unlucky day. I resonate with this meaning more so. Tuesday represents Mars, the Roman God of War. Tuesday represents destruction, blood, and violence. Tuesday was the day Constantinople fell, ending the Roman Empire for good. In Spanish they have a saying, “En martes, ni te cases, ni te embarques, ni de tu casa te apartes” (On Tuesday, do not marry, nor embark, nor leave your home).
I can’t leave my home on Tuesdays. I often can’t even walk 15 feet from my bed to my bathroom without falling over on Tuesdays. Often I go blind on Tuesdays. I pull my hair out on Tuesdays and shove my temple into the corner of my bedpost on Tuesdays. Getting behind the wheel on a Tuesday morning tends to be a dumb idea. More often than not, on any given Tuesday, I have to cancel plans, call out of work, and miss class.
But the real reason I hate Tuesdays is the lack of illusions to surround myself with. On Tuesdays, I have to look in the mirror and face the real version of myself- the one with bloodshot eyes darting back and forth, cracked lips, and tear-stained cheeks. On Tuesdays, I am no longer able to be inspired by the idea of who I want to be. On Tuesdays the face I wear is mine. On Tuesdays, I have to remember the part of myself I spend so much of my life trying to bury beneath me. On Tuesdays, I am reminded that mercy is a myth. On Tuesdays, colors are blinding, light is suffocating, and the sound of my unsteady breathing makes me sick.
On Tuesdays, I look forward to Wednesday, the day of water, the middle, and the steady ground to walk the path of the week along. On Tuesdays, I endure. On Wednesdays, I have survived.