Wednesdays

That time of year thou mayst in me behold 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
In me thou seest the twilight of such day 
As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire 
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 
As the death-bed whereon it must expire 
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. 
   This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
   To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

~ Sonnet 73 - Shakespeare

I work four tens, and instead of receiving a long weekend, my week is split in twain, with free Wednesdays. One might suppose that these are days of infinite freedom, open for hanging out and whimsy. Such is frequently not the case. I long ago discovered that if I ran all my errands on Wednesdays, when the weekends arrived and everyone was off work, I wouldn't have any errands left to run.  Unfortunately, this hampers any plans people assume I am free for on these Wednesdays: lunches, coffee (tea, please and thank you), or other varied activities. Also, I view Wednesdays not as free days but as "special work days". When I finish with errands, I begin writing or reading or choosing activities that might increase my aptitude (learning, music, technical skills). On particularly tough weeks, I will occasionally relax with an easier read or enjoy lighter activities all day, it is true, but I prefer that these days are productive in some fashion.
They usually are.

All this because today I intended to finish my story, a light, casual little tale I began. I did actually work on the story, but I only managed to transform it from a short into a novella form, realizing I'd sewn more than I could reap in a short story format. Then I got dismayed and ended up writing about clouds, colors, and smells instead. As the sun set, I wrote about violet turtles crossing the heavens with pink underbellies and splayed appendages. I even wrote a little story about them. Not productive.

Some days defeat you; some seasons defeat you.