Midterms season, that dark time that I have learned stretches well beyond the actual middle of the term. It was the Ides of March, both the anniversary of Brutus totally stabbing Caesar and of spring semester totally dying. The 15th of the month is also the day when ancient Roman law demanded that every debt be settled — and I was still deep in sleep debt. It had gotten to the point where I was closing my eyes while I brushed my teeth just for a moment of peace.
But when I opened my eyes, I saw Wednesday, March 16 on my Google Calendar, events cleared. She was stripped down to her skivvies, wearing only “Wellness Day,” while the days around her watched, fully clothed in Google Calendar events: FM interviews, class, and panic hour (an hour each day to panic).
Ah, yes. College-sanctioned Relaxation Time. Nothing promotes Wellness more than gaslighting yourself into believing that you don’t need to panic over your Gov 20 essay when you definitely do. Luckily, a year with my high school ex had prepared me well.
But as I studied my calendar, all of the Unwellness Days stared back at me voyeuristically, as Wednesday and I vibed, unburdened by clothes or a constant state of panic. I knew that after my day of Wellness, I’d end up winging another Canvas quiz at 11:58 PM and then, as is my habit, hitting myself in the nose with my door on my way to get a late night snack, my coordination fatally degraded from exhaustion.
My nose was two more door-smacks away from needing medical attention. Fuck it, I decided. I’m going to embrace the grind.
That Wellness Day, I breezed through assignments, blissfully frolicking through hours of comparative government readings, au naturel, just the way God intended. I saw technicolor flowers and sparkles in my periphery all the while. And it was beautiful.
After the euphoria of 12 hours of pure productivity faded, I realized, embarrassed, that someone from across the hall had seen me accidentally overfilling my Brita filter and then almost dropping it when I lost a flip flop at the water fountain.
Was I more “well” than I had been 12 hours prior? Absolutely not. But I had been productive.
Back in front of my Google Calendar, my eyes slid to Saturday and Sunday. I started wondering: can I cultivate the forbidden-fruit feeling of a naked Wednesday over the weekend, and eliminate two days I always waste and finally curb my self-loathing once and for all?
Daylight Savings Time had recently reminded me that time is a construct anyways. Thus, I expunged Saturday and Sunday from the canon of the work week and replaced them with Friday Extension and Monday Precursor. Get that post-productivity glow any night, with two free extra weekdays you already spend working anyway! Now available 24/7, 365 days a year, because you never had a work-life balance in the first place.
