Dear Tuesday,

Today's Tuesday but that means nothing to me anymore. Tuesday has meaning only in a normal Monday to Friday work week. When you work the weekend through, you need a different base.

I remember in 6th grade math learning about Base 10, and how we think in 10s because we have 10 fingers. But if we had 12 fingers, we'd think in 12s: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 <dec> <el> 10.

That's how I feel about Tuesday. When Saturday and Sunday become part of the regular work week, and when you log >80 hours at work within 8 consecutive days, we need a different base to create meaning out of what those days mean.

I'm too tired to come up with that new base right now though. All I know for sure is I should stop being hard on myself for not wanting to get out of bed, even though it's only Tuesday.

To the hope of better days to come,

B

Dear B,

I know you're exhausted. I know that the one thing you want from this weekend is to sleep and not go anywhere or be expected to do anything, that your body is collapsing from sleep deprivation and office furniture, and your mind is overwhelmed with planning, organizing, and learning.

But this isn't the weekend you get to rest. Neither will next weekend, probably, or the one after that. In other words, your days of rest are over. If you're going to hold a job that keeps you out of the house for 12 hours a day and get things done like shopping and post office visits, you're going to have to get used to the dizziness that comes from sleep deprivation, the piles of things-to-do on every surface of your apartment, the sink perpetually full of dirty dishes, and the closet full of old clothes you'll have to wear because you don't have energy to go shopping for new ones. This sounds crazy to you after your freelancer days, but it's perfectly normal. You may feel like the waking dead, but so do all the other 20-something full-time workers out there.

And just think. Half of them have kids.

Hugs & kisses,

B