That Thursday Feeling

Having taken a thorough and extensive poll of both of my housemates this evening, I have reached the conclusion that Thursday is the worst day of the entire week.

Thursday is just a terrible day. Ever since it was named after the Norse god of thunder, a deity with so few brain-cells that he once had his hammer stolen by a giant, it has had less going for it than chocolate covered quavers. Even if we'd stuck with the older system of naming it after Jupiter, it would still be referencing a planet that didn't have enough mass to make it a star. Essentially, a failure. A solar-system X-factor reject.

Every other day has a positive. With Friday and Saturday it's obvious. Sunday has a certain fatherly charm that I find endearing whilst Monday and Tuesday, although occasionally difficult to face after the weekend, have a 'get-up-and-go' attitude that I can't criticise. Even Wednesday, lumbered with its mid-week position, has the benefit of sports afternoon which for many athletically challenged people equates to an afternoon off.

Thursday has nothing. It's far enough away from last weekend that a kind of melancholy nostalgia has set in but it isn't close enough the coming weekend to create any sense of anticipation. It's nearly always grey, often windy and usually accompanied by a pathetic drizzle. Any lectures you have on a Thursday turn into yawning chasms of boredom and if you don't have lectures then you still can't enjoy it as the fact that you're paying an astronomical sum in tuition fees to do nothing really slams home.

And when you get home, the TV is bad, the milk is sour and the essay you've been putting off for weeks is due the next day. It could barely get any worse until you remember, as you crawl into your cold and miserable bed, that it's only a week until next Thursday.

Don't think that Thursday feels good about being rubbish. It hates being the day you hate. But it's stuck with its reputation and you have to put up with it. And you will do for the rest of your life.