in creative writing journal

Tomorrow is Wednesday

The sidewalk was wet, still icy in spots, and black. The dogs yanked on their leashes because this is their first walk in a few nights. I should have paid more attention to where I’m going, but I couldn’t focus on anything but the thought circling in my head.

Tomorrow is Wednesday

It cycled again and again, an insidious gif of a meme I don’t understand.

Tomorrow is Wednesday.

Where did this dread come from? I didn’t have anything more going on tomorrow than I did today or on Thursday. A bill due. Writing in the morning and afternoon. Teaching at night. I tried to distract myself with the light reflected in puddles.

Wed. Nes. Day.

Is that really how it’s spelled? That can’t be right.

Tomorrow is Wednesday.

It’s the middle of the week. It’s only the middle of the week. It’s the middle of the week already?

A dog tore around a parked car, toenails scratching cement between fierce, rapid barks.

Adrenaline exploded in my neck. I was scruff shook to my senses. Under the gray hair and flab, I was still a mechanism of muscle, bone and instinct. Abbie, Nikkie and I turned as a pack because that’s exactly what we were.

The other dog stopped at the limit of its chain. We are disappointed by this.

“His bark is much worse than his bite,” a man said from the dark of his garage. His voice was genuinely apologetic.

It took me a moment to remember what language was, what it was good for, how to make it go. “Thanks,” I said.

The dogs and I turned toward home. The corner to our street was only two houses down, and I almost made it there before the thought hit me.

Tomorrow is Wednesday.

Yes, it is, I told myself. All day long.

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