On Mondays I make myself pack my gym bag for Tuesday, only to find it unopened on a Saturday afternoon, leaving it for the heap of to-do lists for the next week.
On Wednesdays I practice the arm movements for the perfect pen stroke to cross something off the to-do list, fantasizing about the day when I’d finally feel wholly fulfilled.
On Thursdays I walk at noon with ghostly steps on the half-molten icy staircase outside my apartment, & suddenly realize that I’m not dreaming & somehow my corporeal presence has consequences, apparently.
On Fridays I close my senses & try to recall something worth remembering this week, only to fall asleep, numb & free, and awake Sunday night with sweat & racing heart.