Trivial nonsense to throw a fit over
Glossed over on April 6, 2025.
The day tried to end—and failed. Then another day began. Now it was two days at once! Monday and Tuesday trapped together forever in the same box on my ceiling calendar! What to do? What to do!?
I started mewling. Then Nurdlebutt started mewling. Then Becasue started mewling. Then my ceiling clock started mewling. Then I tore my calendar from the wall and ate it. But it was too glossy so I started murping. Then Nurdlebutt started murping. Then Becasue hit me with a rolled-up newspaper and my ceiling clock fell and beaned me on the top of my curiously square yet pointed head. Then everything came to a stop. Then I realized I was lying on my back on the floor (not someone else’s back like I thought), hyperventilating and crossing my eyes until they could see each other.
Then my huzzey-muffet hit me with a rolled-up newspaper again.
Then I remembered that time I wrote this on Facebook:
What a timely post. I was in the market today for “trivial nonsense to throw a self-righteous fit over,” and never in my wildest snits nor most high-dudgeonly tantrums could I ever have come up with “oil stains on pavement” on my own. And—to work a “think of the children!” angle into it, for that extra sanctimonious oomph! This is awesome, and I will add this to my repertoire of meaningless piffle to get indignant over on a daily basis. Truly, I salute you, Facebook bloviator. You have made my day.
So, I stopped getting upset about my own meaningless piffle and learned to love these new doubled-up days. Would Wednesday and Thursday both be trapped together in the same day tomorrow? Only time would tell! (But not my ceiling clock, which exploded on impact.)
I sat on my porch quietly sipping my newspaper and reading my coffee. It was Friday morning: The Sun was up, the Moon was down, and the stars were all screaming in horror as the blue sky overpowered them and pushed them into the background for another day. They would have their vengeance soon enough, however—like most other days, night would come and the stars would be back.
It was then that I realized the Bouillabaisse Boulevard Bulletin didn’t taste that good, so I decided to sip my coffee and read my newspaper instead. MIT’s Crank of the Year award went to Raymond Hoser this year, for naming over 818,000 new lizard species after his dog. Dartmouth College’s Quack of the Year award went to a literal duck who had been discovered posing as a doctor for a local telehealth company for over six months. And I learned that Harvard’s Crunk of the Year award was something that I simply imagined—Harvard University was, in fact, entirely imaginary. I turned the page.
Saturday was nowhere in sight. I took another sip of newspaper but page C4 was too glossy so I ended up choking on it. Then Friday ended and… Sunday began.