But for me, it was Tuesday
For me it was October 13, 2024.
Last Wednesday was the most important day of your life. But for me, it was Tuesday.
For my big little redheaded huzzey-muffet, it was the day her fresh crate of pumpkin spice nail polish would arrive in the mail. But for me, it was Tuesday.
For the feral geese roaming my neighborhood, it was Honksday. But for me, it was Tuesday.
I would never be Cyrus the Great, but perhaps I could be Cyrano de Bergerac for a day. I have the nose for it. I got the hammer and the wrench. But then I got my nose stuck in a vise and I couldn’t wrench it out. Or hammer it out. And for me, it was Tuesday.
They play checkers; they couldn’t beat me playing chess. Now I’m about to turn around and beat my chest: Whoop and howl and bellow like a bison in heat. People would stop and stare, people would fear the end was near. However for me, it was Tuesday.
Climate change has turned everything into graphs made out of hockey sticks. Not even those of the most piriform morphology could argue with me on this topic. The cats were dispensed with as unnecessary. Because for me, it was Tuesday.
Moreover, spherical brundles of sophistry, triggered by nothing more problematic than statistics concerning enteral ventilation to go into paroxysmal bouts of skeetch-truncheoning, were overrunning the Carpathian Mountains again. I sighed (enterally). As for me, it was Tuesday.
A blue-haired, tattoo-slathered girl wearing a clock around her neck and nothing else visited me in my hypnagogic ruminations on Tuesday. (For me, that day too was Tuesday.) Spinning morosely in the air were shimmering Borromean rings made of pure Hyperborean basalt. But the girl wasn’t wearing any rings. Or anything else. And for both of us, it was Tuesday.
Then it became clear as basalt crystals: My ceiling calendar was stuck on Tuesday. Try as I might, I could not advance it another square. So for me… it is Tuesday. And they can get on their f———ing keyboards and make me the bad guy. But for me—not them!—it is Tuesday.
Ants had learned to farm fungi during a mass extinction event. But could they breathe through their anuses? Do ants even have anuses? Or do they just drive stick? Do insects have exsects? Do insects have sects? Do insects have sex? Do insects have Insex? They sure reproduce like rabbits (which are not insects). And for them, is it Tuesday?
I heard a whole herd of bison making bellowing noises. I had never heard anything bigger than an owl make that kind of noise. (Pray to the Owl Gods!) Those bison sure had a lot of guile to do that. Would they be eaten by balrogs? Who could say? Was it still Tuesday… for me? (Yes.)
Old Years Eve will soon be nigh. It’s only a few months away. Thousands of toes launched into space couldn’t even stop the approach of that semiglutinous holiday. That ubblabumptuous, intractably holy day. Absquatulating over filibusterous gongoozles won’t even slow it down. Will chopsticks? But for me, it will always be… Wednesday eve.
A balrog was riding a Honda. Good grief! Even… Zangief! It’s almost not Tuesday anymore! But for someone somewhere, it will be Tuesday tomorrow. Becasue is in the kitchen cooking up some kind of inscrutable Tex-Mex cuisine. Naturally, this involves was a lot of corn: Corn flour, corn shells, corn meal, corn starch, cornbread, and corn gorn wrorng. For me, it was Taco Tuesday.
Another hypnagogic hallucination met me in my bed. The blue-haired girl wasn’t the one skeetch-truncheoning. Not enough piriformity in that one. Those formican insects from yesterweek continued to rewire my synapses. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Dweezil says it best when he says nothing at all. Not with a bang, but a wheedle. For me, it remained Tuesday. And then it doubled up: For me, it was two days. (Two Tuesdays.)
And there I went: Sinking, hippopotamus-like, beneath the bubbles in my bathtub. But I wouldn’t drown. For you see, for me… it was a Tuesday.
Idly I wondered if the hemispheric difference in hair whorls was related to the Coriolis effect. Their toilets drain backwards—so does their hair curl backwards for the same reason? Perhaps the amazing swimming abilities of dead trout could explain it. Or maybe it’s just because all the people are upside-down down there. I wondered. But for me, it was Tuesday.
But for me, it was Tuesday.