Song for a Crappy Tuesday

It’s 1:00am.

Your eyes bat open and your brain tries to wade through the waters of sleep onto sandy shore. Your body is covered in sweat (hadn’t it been cool when you went to bed? You even put the extra comforter on and burrowed down into the sheets. Now in early September’s cruel mood swings you are caught between autumn chill and sweltering Indian summer. There is no winning.) and your mouth is like an exhaust pipe that belches hot breathes of old beer and hot dogs.

You’re probably still drunk.

Sleep shows no signs of returning, so you roll over, thump out of bed and drag yourself into the bathroom.

Once there your thumb flicks on the light and your eyes stay shut, the blackness they see is exchanged for maroon. Hopefully your eyes will adjust.

You pad to the sink and open your eyes, only to catch a glimpse in the mirror of what you fear most. It is you. You, my friend, are the Tuesday after Labor Day.



Why is Labor Day on a Monday? Why can’t it be on a Friday? Why is it that every time a weekday holiday arrives we can’t seem to exercise any self control? Suddenly all is chaos and tomorrow never comes…until it does. And on Labor Day, Tomorrow is Tuesday.

Which is today.

Which is you.