TGIT - Reaching The Golden Precipice

Thursday has always been my favorite day, as I live for anticipation.  The converse, of course, is Sunday night, when the proverbial wad has been shot, various parts of my body ache, and the horror of Monday ticks towards me like a Panzer in low gear.

But Thursday is a whole different bushel basket of creamy, fortified goodness.  It's the 24 hour span that precedes Friday, when all the caged-in hopes and dreams of that week will begin.  Thursday is also the day when the free world loosens its tie a bit.  Exhales in a quiet room.  Takes a magic hour walk on dusky streets.  Maybe heads to the local tavern for a cocktail or two the night before the "fuck yeah!" douchebags and wide-assed weekend warriors belly up for free happy hour food, half price well drinks, and staggered puking sessions in the parking lot.

On a creative level, Thursday always ends up being my most productive, as by that point, I'm fully rested from the halcyon happenings of the weekend prior, I've usually put in 3-4 days at the gym (so all my thews are fully hydrated and my metabolism is smiling back at me), and knocked out enough office work to make me feel like a decent member of the rat race.  Most importantly, it marks the milestone vantage point from which I can finally see the light of that new dawn cresting on the horizon just a few leagues to the starboard side, when anything can (and usually does) happen.

Today was no different.  As soon as I kissed my beauitiful wife goodbye and pulled out of the driveway (taking care to dodge a cadre of tiny men armed with oversize leaf blowers), my brain was humming.  Ideas, snippets of dialogue and description, new angles on old stores, goddamn TITLES (that rarest of epiphanies) were bouncing across my brain as I drove on my well-worn path to work, totally on autopilot.  POP!POP!POP!  I swear I saw phosphorous tracers, as if firing an AK into the central Asian sky.  Not even the shitty music on the radio (a mushy blur of Foreigner and 38 Special or something similarly tired), nor the ever present Tyler Perry bus adverts (featuring the HIGHlarious pull quote "Good afternoont!"  Hahaahahahah-- kill me) could spoil the buzzing wave on which I surfed.  In that odd twist of reality that sometimes rides bareback on a rush of creativity, I didn't want the commute to end, as that little overheated pod of cracked leather seating and faded black paint was an incubator of a 1001 ideas that would hopefully one day grow up to haunt 10,001 nights.  I wrote notes at every stoplight, tittering like a loon as I did.  I got strange stares.  I wished them a happy Thursday.  They shook their head.  

For some people, it's always Sunday night.

So I say to you, friends and readers and friendly readers all, may all your creative days be Thursday, and may Friday always loom with immense possibility and wonder around the next bend.  Today is the day.  Can't you feel the energy of anticipation in the air?  Take out your pens and open your notebooks.  Squeeze out some fresh paint onto the palette.  Sharpen your carving tools.  There's still so much to be done, and the time to do it draws nigh.
 
Somnium diem!  Carpe noctem!