Tuesday is a harsh and heartless taskmaster. It is the only day of the week that has nothing going for it. Nothing about a Tuesday eases getting out of bed. Nothing about a Tuesday gives me any hope that I can survive the week.

Monday is a matter of brute force. I get out of bed because I have to. It’s a matter of mind over drowsiness — something that has to be done, and so I do it.

Wednesday is the halfway mark. Sisyphus finally gets the boulder to the top and, by the grace or inattention of the gods, gives it the final push to get the boulder rolling down the other side.

The only thing Thursday has to recommend it is its proximity to Friday. I can make it though a bad Thursday solely by thinking, “Tomorrow’s Friday. Tomorrow’s Friday.”

Friday, of course, is Friday: it has everything going for it.

But Tuesday? Other than time with Morrie, whom I don’t even know, I can’t think of a single good thing about Tuesday.

I don’t recommend it.