“This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.”
                -Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

                Since starting this blog — 441 weeks ago! — I’ve noticed something bewildering. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed the same thing. I’ll finish a post, revise it, get it to a place I like. I’ll post it on Wednesday night. And then the very next week, Wednesday comes along again.
                Remembering back to Adams is a lot of fun. He’s been part of my head for — twenty years? More. And here he is, celebrating the fundamentally mysterious in the blatantly obvious. I’m having trouble getting the hang of Wednesdays, myself. And the funny thing of being a me who remembers me but the other mes agree and disagree on different things, and want different things, and memories blur them together. And trying. That’s a weird one. I’ve been rock climbing more, and sometimes it’s hard to tell when I’m really, really trying, pulling on the rock with everything I can, and when I’m kinda sorta trying. A few days ago I didn’t get the hang of that and came home with a bruised hand. Or dishes! Has anyone gotten the hang of dishes? Or mornings? Or evenings? Or eating a last chip but only after the chip bag’s closed so you don’t get another last chip, but how can you close the bag properly when you’ve got a chip in one hand?
                I spend a lot of time thinking. Learning. Working things through. Adams makes me chuckle with the thoughtless, the perfectly possible but somehow always impossible, the spilled, the confused. I never could get the hang of Wednesdays.