I say unquantifiable because I really can't determine a reason why they should suck so much. It's not that I have to get up early, battle rush-hour traffic, and rejoin the workforce after two days off, because, as a semi-unemployed writer, every day is basically Thursday for me.
(Why Thursday? Because it occupies that nebulous place in space-time that is immediately after the halfway point, but an infinity before the end. It's the weekday version of the last 20 minutes of school, in which time ceases to exist as a measurable quantity and becomes a subjectively infinite purgatory.)I mean, I determine what day it is by recalling what I watched on television the night before, so don't think I'm living some glorious slacker existence of unending summer when it's really that dreary span of time which lingers between dinner and whatever's on TV at 8 pm.
So with that established, Monday should be just another Thursday evening, right? Except it's not. 99% of the time, I wake up Monday morning feeling like ass microwaved on a stale waffle. It's kind of like being hungover, except with no nausea and shaking. Sometimes I have a headache, but sometimes not. I could understand all this if I had spent the weekend in debauchery, but since the dissolution of my real life social circle (long story) all I do Saturday is write, putz around online, and sometimes see a movie. Sunday afternoon, I do laundry, then watch three hours of television in the evening.
It's not exactly kicking, is it? And yet, come Monday morning, I feel like I spent 8 hours dancing on a stripper pole and giving blowjobs while wired on meth. Sometimes I wonder if I'm Tyler Durden, and my alter-ego has a better sex life than I do. If so, I wish she'd leave me some notes and maybe some scandalous photographs as keepsakes.
Anyway, the entire upshot of this is to tell you why I sometimes don't write on Mondays. It's not that I love my readers any less, it's that I'm fucking exhausted from what I can only assume is a secret life of mayhem perpetrated by my second personality.
I am trying to get better, though. Some of you have hopefully noticed an increase in writing lately. This is all part of a little something I like to call Operation: Stop Being Such A Whiny Bitch And Just Write Already Goddammit and is the first step in my personal Year of the Phoenix. The first rule of O:SBSAWBAJWAG is that I will write something every weekday. If I miss a Monday because I'm feeling shitty, then I will write something that Saturday.
The second step, of course, is to actually punish myself when I break this promise. Which, knowing me, will be pretty soon. The third step is actually pretty ambitious and boils down to writing X number of words per day. This is to condition me to get used to writing on what is hopefully a professional schedule.
The fourth step, which I may never reach, is "Make daily progress on your novel at the same rate that webcomics do." Step five is the fantastical "Finish writing that damn thing and get it published."
This is my life, and it's ending one minute at a time. And I'll be damned if I die on a Thursday, between dinner and Survivor.