What is the Point of Wednesday?

It's time for me to discuss the point of Wednesday, or what is often mistakenly considered the "hump" of the Week Camel. However, if you've been reading my explanations regarding the point of each day of the week, including the point of Tuesday, you'd know that Wednesday is actually just the day before the true middle of the week, Thursday, serving as a mere modicum of discomfort in a seven-day sea of absolute pointlessness. Also, the week isn't a camel, contrary to what ridiculousness Western society would have you believe. It's actually a snake with its tail in its mouth.

But let me detail the exact pain that Wednesday entails due to its relentless droll faux optimism, thanks to the idea that getting over this "hump" somehow means the rest of the week isn't some kind of a lackluster void—a repetitive hurricane of emptiness and disappointment.

Why is Wednesday Pointless?

There are several reasons why Wednesday is pointless. For starters, the name "Wednesday" is derived from the made-up Latin phrase "Wedsdem," which means "weddings demolished." This doesn't make sense because nobody gets married on Wednesday, or typically any day of the week outside of Saturday and Sunday, so it goes without saying that Wednesday isn't a day to have weddings, let alone demolish them.

Other less credible sources cite Teutonic mythology as the origin for the days of the week, but even that is pointless if true because Woden, the god that Wednesday is named after, is a father of other gods, including Tyr, the Norse god of war that gave Tuesday its name. But why the hell would a god need a son? How can gods even reproduce? And why does his son Thor, or Thursday, look like Christopher Hemsworth? And why does Woden—also known as Odin—have a wife named, of all things, Frigga, after whom Friday is named? It's all so confusing and endlessly pointless, mainly because gods don't exist.

These are merely some of the ways in which Wednesday is pointless, but I'm far from finished.

Let's consider the fact that Wednesday comes before Thursday, which is the true middle of the week, as we can see in the Week Snake, or Week Ouroboros.

Wednesday is the day with the most tears because while it's not the dead center of the snake, it's the one that's essentially the predecessor of the true middle, making it a lonely speck stuck between the droll intestine of Tuesday and the stomach of Thursday. This makes Wednesday essentially the small intestines of the week, where that once-fresh food that traveled back from Sunday all the way backward to Thursday is now just beginning its transformation into the week's feces.

Speaking of the Roman calendar's fecal matter, Monday is actually the unhappiest day of the week—as indicated by it having the largest frown—because it is, in fact, the tail or rectum of the Week Snake. However, Wednesday is the saddest because it's in the middle of two unimportant days of the week, the pointless center between the other useless centers of the week.

Meanwhile, Sunday has the tail of Monday in its mouth, or the other way around, depending on your version. Of course, given the Ouroboros here, you could argue that the same shit is cycling through the snake all week, meaning every day is an equally unpleasant ravine of ever-stagnating shit.

Wednesday is also far from the end of the week altogether, with the sludge of Thursday through Tuesday to get through before we circle back to the ever-useless Wednesday. And while you may want to believe that Saturday and Sunday are somehow nicer, the fact is that those days are nothing but providers of false hope in a two-day stretch of a seven-day slog, hence the former's half-smirk and the latter's straight-up frown in the image up there. There's no escaping what's to follow on Monday's misery.

What Else Makes Wednesday Pointless?

Oh, that's not enough to convince you that Wednesday is pointless? Sorry to disappoint you, or retain your stupid optimism, which is stupid, if I didn't already say so. So, apart from Wednesday not even being a hump but an intestinal tract only leading to the acid-riddled stomach of Thursday, the actual middle of the week, what else is there to find completely futile and loathsome about this day?

Everything. 

To help illustrate my point even further here, let me take you through a typical Wednesday that you're likely to find all too real:

You wake up at 3 in the morning because of a nightmare wherein demonic wall outlets dragged you into a hellish parallel universe where everyone was inside-out and in constant pain. This is followed by eating a breakfast consisting of a bowl of chopped cardboard and goat milk, which tastes even banaler than ever before.

The commute to work downtown, which is normally slowed by a haunted century-old train on the track ahead of yours that's never been decommissioned, is this time slowed to a 7-hour delay thanks to a giant thumb that broke the track a couple miles up.

You show up to the office with one hour left until the office closes, and your boss threatens to pay for pain insurance, which would pay him money every time he hurts you for being late. Despite your questioning whether that actually exists, you complacently sit at the empty space where your desk used to be, which is now being used by the new employee Derek, who's half lizard and half lamp. He uses his agile cord arm to type away on the new computer that should be yours after your boss threw the old one out a week ago. Meanwhile his lizard head, which sits in the center of the top of the lampshade in a way that makes it look like a dragon frill, stares at you and licks his lizard lips and laughs as you ponder how a lamp could procreate with a lizard and produce a coworker who's twice as competent as you.

Sitting on the floor, you contemplate jumping out the five-story window, but as soon as you get up to get a run start for it, seven miniature passenger jets piloted by passenger pigeons fly into the office and start releasing miniature projectiles in a sudden small-scale firebombing incident.

After knocking each jet out of the air with a leg of his desk and killing the pigeons in the process as they squawk and squeak their last breaths, your boss uses a fire extinguisher to put out the fast-spreading flames. You then notice that some of the fire has burned what's left of the coworker who died in the office so suddenly a month ago. This is good news because while it smells like a burnt corpse in the meantime, that aroma is soon likely to subside and eliminate the stench of a merely rotting carcass that's made the office unbearable this past month, in addition to everything else. Unfortunately, the flames didn't get to Derek, who still sits comfortably in his comfy chair with his lizard feet and lamp base as he clicks and clacks away on the keyboard using his nifty whip of a cord arm.

Even at Home, Wednesday Sucks

The return to your empty apartment offers no release—the place is still flooded thanks to a broken kitchen sink that's been rendered unfixable and irreplaceable because of a decades-old shamanic curse on it. Because of this, the water stands at its steady knee-deep depth once you open the front door and let more water leak out into the hall. And because of this, one of your neighbors has written a thank you note and taped it to your front door, offering gratitude for giving their family a free shin-deep indoor wading pool to relax in on the weekends, with a $20 bill attached as the first of an indefinite number of monthly payments for this inadvertent service. This is the only instance of seemingly karmic good in a sea of perpetual anguish, almost as if the shamanic curse was a source of good fortune granting you an extra $20 a month, but thinking that's an intentional silver lining is being hopeful at best and insanely stupid at worst.

Once you sit at your soaking couch and stare at your water-damaged and completely useless TV for five hours and think of every method of self-torture known to man, it's time for dinner. This consists of nothing because you can only afford your cardboard breakfast. It's then time for bed, which is also on the floor because you find somebody actually broke into your apartment today and for some reason stole your moldy, soaking bed. So instead you put on the scuba mask and tank you purchased in the event the water level goes above your neck at some point, and let yourself sink to the bottom of the bedroom floor as you stare futilely at the quivering dark ceiling. Shutting your eyes makes no difference before you drift off into another nightmare that isn't much worse than your waking hours.

Giving up is what makes sense when going on simply feels like more work than it's worth, and you've nearly dried up your resources. 

Perhaps Thursday will offer some more hope, but it's doubtful for several reasons I will explain in my next post about that awful day.