So, it’s coming up. Paul’s deathday. It will be two years on the 14th of October, but for me – it hits home on the Wednesday. He died on a Wednesday, not a Saturday. Saturdays and Sundays are for old people to die in. Wednesday is the middle of something. It’s not complete. It is unsatisfying.
Dying on a weekend – you’ve finished your week and are on a day of rest. Dying on a Monday has strength to it. It says – fuck you, I’m not going to do this anymore.
Tuesdays – that’s really young. Usually you’re just starting to hit your stride on Tuesday.
Thursdays, you’re a bit tired but a bit excited the end of the week is coming.
But Wednesday. That is a peak.
The story arc could still go anywhere on Wednesday.
Wednesdays are cheap airfare days. People don’t travel on Wednesdays, they’re working hard, dammit. They’re making big presentations, being productive as hell.
Wednesdays end with optimism. Paul had just found a dream job with a group of people he liked and who liked him. They valued his ideas. They encouraged him to grow. He’d found his stride and was about to leap forward, feverishly researching code and business ideas.
And then – Wednesday ended at 4:20 pm.
It made no sense. That’s what hurt the most. Weeks don’t end on Wednesdays. Beautiful men shouldn’t end at 48.
I don’t care when 14 October falls. Paul’s death will always be that 2nd Wednesday in October. Halfway through Spring here, halfway through Autumn where I’m from. Too early no matter where you are.