The question that waits for Thursday

Monday cracked a little. Tuesday cracked more. By Thursday you're running on a tired that sleep won't touch. Nothing dramatic happened. Nothing good did either. And somewhere in that gray stretch, a question you'd already settled strolls back in and takes a seat. You thought that one was closed. It was.

Tiredness brings no new argument, because there isn't one. It just reopens the case. So you argue it after lunch. Again on the way home. Again at ten at night with the dishes half done. By Friday you've defended the same verdict nine times. Nobody stays sharp in a courtroom that won't adjourn.

You don't have to win this case every day. You won it once, on a clear day, at full strength. That ruling holds on an empty Thursday too. The cigarette used to pose as the break you needed in weeks like this. Mostly it gave you a few minutes off from the itch it caused. Rest this week means leaving the file closed.

Grab a sticky note and write two words. Case closed. Put it where you'll see it on Wednesday afternoon. Then hand God the week before it starts arguing. Same answer, Lord. Help me hold it. Trim everything else to the basics. Eat, sleep, show up. Heavy weeks end. My answer doesn't.