And so are most Tuesdays and Wednesdays, come to think of it. Thursdays are different. Thursday is the most perfect of all the days of the week because it means Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday are over, but you still have Friday and Saturday and Sunday to look forward to. What’s not to like about that?

Looking forward to the weekend is, at least in my experience, sometimes better than the weekend itself. I blame this in part on The Cure, who carried on about Fridays with such unbridled enthusiasm that it makes my own Fridays seem anticlimactic in comparison, and on Jean-Luc Godard, who made me associate weekends with being captured by cannibalistic guerrillas in hippie garb.

In any case, I am now plunged headlong into three days of existential despair (and high melodrama, judging from my theatrics in this post) as I wait for Thursday, the Barack Obama of weekdays, to arrive, bringing with it the hope of a weekend that will probably suck anyway. If only I were an alcoholic or abused drugs, perhaps I’d be happier right now.