Hump Day

Today is (was) Wednesday. I say was because it's now twenty to nine, no matter what the little clock I see down there below says. This is the first real chance I've gotten to write this, so the thought isn't as fresh in my mind as it might have been, but: It's about this "hump" day. Before you get antsy, relax - there'll be no juvenile puns here on this blog, ever - you've got my word on that.

It's the "hump" of the week, the middle. Get over this, as I, and you, just did, and you're more than halfway there. Halfway to the weekend. My concern is, why would we all participate in a life where the majority of it, 71.4 percent of it, consists of days we try to get over with as soon as possible? You don't have to be a mountaintop guru to realize the absurdity of a life spent focusing on the destination instead of the journey, particularly when the cycle repeats as soon as the destination is reached as if to thump you on the crown of the head with the heel of reality's abiding palm and say "Yo! You're a friggin' hamster!"


I do realize that this cycle of 'crap, crap, crap, crap, thank God this crap's almost over, weekend!, almost back to crap again...' and repeat - doesn't technically last a whole lifetime. There is, of course, retirement, and childhood, but childhood is commonly viewed as a preparation for adulthood and the immortal unimpeachable crap cycle, once over, is replaced by a period of time commonly viewed as, unfortunately, preparation for death. You know, settle down in Florida, spoil the grandkids, get your affairs in order and put the last coat of lacquer on the remains of your earthly legacy. Retirement is, and I'd be awfully surprised if I were the first one ever to say this, something of a final weekend, Life's Weekend, as it were or will be, and if you're with me on this one then you see where it's going.

Begin again. I don't know if I believe in reincarnation - it does seem to align pretty well with the elegance of design and conservation of energy I observe everywhere else I look - but I'm beginning to think that if we start over again from scratch each and every time, the cycle renewing entirely as the doctor cuts the cord and Monday screams out once again, we're at least as much doomed as we are blessed.

Unless, that is, we learn a little bit each time. As long as I come back just a little better, a little wiser for the forgotten experience of a lifetime, I'm okay with it. That's progress; that's change. Even if I don't realize it.

You know, I feel smarter already.

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