Labor Days

Remember:  Today is Tuesday.
Note:  It is not Monday.
You will run around today in a funk or a stupor or like a maniac, thinking it’s Monday, but it’s not. You’ll try to do Monday things, but the key to the Monday door won’t fit, and you’ll fumble around screaming all sorts of hideous bad words as you rummage through your purse or pockets or whichever body cavity acts as storage for your Tuesday key. The whole day, you’ll feel like something is missing, and you’ll keep discreetly patting your thigh to make sure you remembered pants, and then your hand will travel to your fly to make sure it’s zipped (and also, if we’re going to be honest — and, c’mon, let’s be! — to touch “it” because it makes you feel safe in some weird way), and you’ll think maybe you forgot to turn off the stove and that your cat is now dead or at least close to it.
You’ll find some excuse to leave the office, telling the receptionist (also in a haze as she takes off her sneakers and exchanges them for non-white shoes) you have to run an important errand but not saying what (it’s none of her business!), and then rush home to find that everything there is as it should be, but you’ll frantically search the apartment for your keys anyway. Because for the one minute you’ve been home, you’ve managed to misplace them. You’ll check the folds of the sheets on your unmade bed (who has time for that on a busy Monday Tuesday morning!?), and that two seconds on your bed will be enough to lure you back between its folds.
You’ll fall asleep immediately, and dream that you are back at work, doing Tuesday things with efficiency and expediency. In the dream, your outfit is freshly pressed and everyone loves your ideas, and you don’t have sheet creases on your cheek.
Two hours later, your not-dead cat will jump on your chest, put its ass in your face, and you will be having a sexual dream and not realize it is a cat and not the faceless person you were dreaming about. You’ll wake up grabbing your cat’s hips and be glad no one saw it. You’ll look at the alarm clock, realize you can’t possibly get to work before noon, and call the receptionist with an excuse why you won’t be coming back to the office today, but you’ll definitely be in tomorrow.
And tomorrow when you go in, it will be Wednesday, but you’ll think it’s Monday, and then where will you be?