Monday rushes into the room with the best of intentions. She starts projects but is unable to finish, and therefore, rarely dries her hair or wears makeup. Her breakfast sits uneaten on her kitchen counter, while her coffee is cold before lunch. She’s late for every meeting, but always prepared with pen and paper. Her dress is wrinkled, but she’s stylish enough with tights, booties, and blazer that she pulls it off. Monday never lets her dates stay the night, and isn’t interested in commitment. Her favorite food is whatever is the basis for her current diet. Last week was raw veggies, this week bacon and cauliflower mash. There’s a half eaten coconut snack purchased on a whim and ignored once she moved on from paleo. Monday tries.

Tuesday is proud of how well she’s doing in tango class. And she may have a date with her instructor next week. She is always comfortable in jeans and sensible shoes, but if invited to a cocktail party, will invariably decline because she has nothing to wear; her laundry is a bit of a wreck and she never has time to shop. She makes the best soup and always has plenty to share. Tuesday is productive, but so exhausted from work, hobbies, and cooking that she often neglects dishes, dust bunnies, and cleaning the toilet. Tuesday is always game for a lunch date, but can’t be bothered to entertain guests in her messy abode. Tuesday is busy.

Wednesday is just trying to get through this very hard time. Harried but put together, she is learning to say “no” even though she’s afraid it will hurt her chances of promotion. The sad thing is that when she manages to carve out some time for herself, she spends it in a haze of Netflix and icecream binging. She’s made appointments with her doctor, therapist, and life coach to get back on track, but she can’t think about that right now. Her dinner is usually the cheapest, greasiest pizza one can buy, purchased behind the privacy of sunglasses, so no one will recognize her in sweats and dirty T-shirt. Wednesday is always prepared for rain—the coldest kind that seeps into your bones, and she would totally relish the opportunity to tell you how miserable that is. Who knows if she’s ever dated. Her relationship with Hitachi is strong, so who needs a partner? Wednesday is getting by just fine.

Thursday is a drinker. She’s trying to cut back, but the stress of deadlines, family issues, lack of relationships, as well as mounting cat hair on her couch keeps her down at the local bar until closing most nights. It’s not even that she’s ever really drunk, just avoiding heading home until forced by bartender or strong buzz. Her need to hide real life behind room darkening curtains means she’s racked up quite the list of sloshed suitors, many of whom enjoyed their time together despite the cat hair wedged between ass cheeks in the morning. And even if they minded, she wouldn’t change a thing; the felines that share her flat are the only reason she goes to work. Cat food isn’t free. Thursday may have a drinking problem.

Friday doesn’t care that the bills aren’t paid and that her mother is coming to visit, soon. She cuts out early from work to buy that new micro beer made from chocolate and the remains of last year’s fruit cake that will likely sell out by end of business. She has a dinner party to plan for. Friday employs a housekeeper because who has time to clean AND prepare a five course meal and perfect playlist for twenty of her closest friends? Her stylist is on speed dial in case someone else happens to select the same Free People sweater lovingly sewn and stretched by a fair wage earner—a twenty year old Filipino woman who supports her entire family. She has Friday to thank for that.

Saturday doesn’t own clothes that aren’t a poly cotton blend—both stretchy enough to move and breathable enough so she doesn’t smell after spin class. Saturday enjoys working on her reno and shopping antique stores for the perfect side table or quirky lamp. She works from home, but that usually means the local coffee shop. She buys all her produce from the farmer’s market and her clothes are either found at Goodwill or last week’s sale at TJs. Saturday helps her friends with projects and will pull over to help a little old lady cross the street. She’s cultivated an appreciation for well-spent rainy mornings finishing a good book, and windy days watching the trees bud, leaf, and fall. Saturday enjoys the little things.

Sunday, clad in black, spends an inordinate amount of time in shoe stores looking for the perfect ballet flat—the only indication of personality peeking from her otherwise colorless couture. A closet romantic, she sits in church services dreaming of finding another soul that shares her love of cuddles, long walks in the park, and endless hours touching and smelling leather goods, wooden items, and stationery and books. She wants a partner who will love her as often as she wants, and not just when they have the time. She knows time is fleeting, so she brunches with friends as often as possible, catching up on loves and children while sipping mimosas. Sunday is partial to long afternoons beneath a favorite tree, dreaming. She has a mood board with places she wants to visit: a tiny island in Japan where people fly in to camp, and a small town in Canada that hosts a yearly Shakespeare festival. She smiles at strangers, but she forgets them tomorrow. Her plans are fleeting, but Sunday knows what she wants.