I haven’t had a good Tuesday all month. Yep, I’m still tracking my general mood and energy levels each day using the highly scientific upward, downward, sideways arrow system on the calendar pinned above my computer desk. As I glance up there, my eyes are immediately drawn toward the descending uniformity in the center-left column.
There’ve been quite a few more downward arrows in September of 2026 than usual, for whatever reason. This week, I’ve been contending with my biannually obligated mix of sore throat, cough and congestion—presently on day 4 of this experience. Last Tuesday, it was an afternoon drive to town, sans sunglasses, headache pulsing, in a fruitless attempt to purchase athletic shoes during the brief intermediary period between jobs. The Tuesday before that, I was having yet another reckoning with my inability to make progress on anything amidst the interminable monotony of daily life, seemingly in an extended early-to-midweek spell. And the Tuesday before that…and on, and on, and on.
My Tuesdays are more like the average person’s Wednesdays. I work Sunday evenings and I’ll usually try to cram in some midday errands running up to the shift in an effort to save a fuller period of rest and relaxation for the days beforehand, making Saturday and sometimes also Friday my de facto weekend. You might be able to understand, then, why Tuesdays are often the low point of my week. Today was actually Wednesday, which in my world is a Thursday, so tomorrow is my Friday, and I’m probably going to have to work in the afternoon, again. Despite being sick since Sunday, which feels closer to a Monday, I haven’t been able to take any time off from work.
I don’t get paid time off at either of my jobs, and I'm sort of the last line of defense in different ways at both places. If I decide to call in, I’m either leaving people hanging out to dry or just creating more work for myself later on. I can at least perform the bulk of one job remotely, which is a nice perk I would never want to take for granted. That being said, the perks of living this way don’t extend much further than that.
I guess the part that I hate most about adulthood, specifically the version of it I’m stuck in the middle of, is that I won't ever be let off the hook. Sure, in some sense I might've been let off the hook from the expectation of accomplishing anything worthy of praise or attention, but never from the daily grind that ideally would lead to such an occasion. I used to call in from school in the moments I’d become overwhelmed by the experience of it all. In college, I’d skip classes entirely if I didn’t feel like rolling out of bed on a given day. I don’t blame myself for acting that way, because I’d do it again if I could. Nothing can prepare you for this experience, no matter what kind of person you are, and nobody can make you fully appreciate this until it’s too late.
Here’s where I’m supposed to type on the keyboard that I could always choose to try a little harder and work toward a life where maybe I, too, can have access to those shinier perks we are all conditioned to want. But honestly, what good is hard work if I'll always be haunted by the specter of failure? I ended the last post on here more resolute than ever that I need to leave the past behind, but I know deep down that the past is who I’ve become—everything that came before has led to this. I will probably make the same mistakes I made already, it’s in my nature. I don’t want this part of me to win, I don’t want this to be true, but what do the odds say? I’m in a constant, years-long struggle between growth and complacency, little more than upward and downward arrows sequentially aligned on a metaphysical sheet of paper. What is it going to take to point the entirety of my being toward a single direction?