My favorite day of the week is Thursday. I can hear the neighborhood begin to wake up at dusk with the early revilers.
I love days with six letters like Monday and Friday.  They are shorter to type. I always have to speak Wednesday phonetically as I write it.
I love Sundays because I am supposed to rest on that day yet sometimes I get all the way to six or seven clocking thinking it was Monday or Saturday.  Therefore, I was either working hard or drinking a lot.
I love the day of the week where it is a little cold.  It feels clean.
I don’t know how I feel about the days when the house gets stemmed to sterned.
It’s either good like the the deleted feeling like after a good workout or a good cry
And the visual conformation of hard work
or I can feel the inevitability
The dishes creeping back up
The dust settling back down
The clothes I’m wearing can’t be worn tomorrow.  Laundry must be done again.

I love the harvest days
And the planting days
And the days when both happen.
One crop finishes and nature abhors a vacuum.

I love the nights with drumming and loud music and
The karaoke machine, usually a Wednesday or a Monday.
I love the days it rains, but only if it pours, only if I can hear it loudly on the roof.
I love the days when I have printed pages in my hand.
I love the days I remember to shower.