Look, it’s not that I like you so much less than Monday or Wednesday, although all three of you rather pale in comparison to Thursday and Friday, but when I step off the Q after that very long commute and it’s so very late and that one professor’s voice - you know the one - with the literally incredible accent that echoes through my nightmares is still ringing in my ears, does it really have to be raining, too? It isn’t enough that I don’t have any decent soup in the house to warm me up when I finally do get home, or that I forgot that it’s suddenly winter now and didn’t bring a scarf today - does there also have to be frigid water dumped on my head when I arrive, finally, in the dark, in Brooklyn?

Okay, fine. Have it your way. But don’t be surprised when the very thought of you makes me tired and irritable and longing for Wednesday, when even an ass o’clock Human Genetics lab seems like a treat. It should not come as news to you that my Tuesday bad moods are rapidly becoming both notorious and infamous, and that I curse the day Monday let you cut in line.

Kisses,

Emma