Thursday, January 16, 2014

Thursday.

I’ve been worrying about Thursday since Wednesday – which isn’t far out of line as I’ve christened Wednesday as Chaotic Wednesday and some slop in mulling is allowed. Yea, necessary.

But, here I am, Thursday morning, mulling a christening for a Thursday category.-

Thursday’s are That Day. They aren’t the weekend. They’re not mid – week, they’re not paydays, they’re not . . . Well, they’re just not. So what does one call Thursday’s, other than Thursday’s, and what astounding events occur on Thursday’s.

I mean, really.

I’ve thought to call them Mundane Thursday’s. That didn’t seem right, some how. Although they do seem rather pabulum in nature, almost as if with nothing else to achieve, work intrudes and work will get done, if for no other reason than it is the only thing left – unless one reviews his small black book weeding out the coyote ugly possible dates to request for  Friday night or perhaps a weekend get away to a favorite Spa somewhere.

Having re-read the ending of the paragraph above I believe that Thursdays cannot bring about review of ones black book. The simple act of selecting dates on such a calculating basis is contrary  psyche.

Having brought up psyche, I was forced to review, through dictionary reference, the various parts of the psyche. The Id I was okay with. Even the Ego was alright. It was that Superego I couldn’t deal with. Not even.

Reading about Id, I got to thinking about human sexuality. Specifically, about the way the sexes seem to think about, um, the act. The military mind might say, I’d screw a rock pile if I thought there was a snake in it. And on the feminine side there’s the He wants what’s down there, what I’m sitting on,  he’s my meal ticket, I have a ring in his nose.

Well,  I’m thinking about Thursday’s. Not payday’s, not sex days, not weekends, not really anything days.

Mulling then, yields Thursdays as an  indecisive day.

So, Indecisive Thursday, it is. I’ll be able to write about all my worldly woe’s, trials, tribulations, observations and . . . well, whatever.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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