The Titling of the Nights

Tomorrow, The Moon.

I had been analyzing cross weather patterns with thoughts of circumnavigating the International Date Line in a dirigible.  The theory was that one could persist in a flux of differentiating days, since it is never officially Friday or Saturday on the Dateline, it being a function of time zones and differing cultural feces regarding the establishment of Time for the function of labor.

I hadn't really been struggling with the aeronautics.  I took a few whiffs of Helium and began calling up major news outlets to tell them of my plan.  They thought I was High, I thought it was funny, considering altitude and stratosphere navigation in the SS One.

It was grey and sharply reminiscent of a woman's shoe.

Once you put the helium in it, man.

All I could say were a few words to some passing Frogs that happened to destroy my delicate jet engine system on accident.  I gather that it was a boon, even though the design of the dirigible had a self destructive intent.  I was to test pilot to see what would occur if somebody crashed on the International Dateline.  Theories of Emergency Response Systems were detailed, but there was this other theory that was proding me.  What if no one came, because they couldn't calibrate the calender correctly?

This worried me to no end.

I felt like I wanted a sundae (har har, punny) and so established that on the time arc of the curve, the best possible experiment would not be to crash (Frogs and Skinney Puppy aside, to sound completely asinine) but to delight in Ice Cream Sundaes for this whole venture.  It would happen on an idle Tuesday/Wednesday when all my financial affairs had been sealed.

Sailing the currents of wind sans engine, I discovered that the Anglo Saxon names of Days really were foreboding and bizarre, especially on Thursday/Friday, which rolled into Thursday Night/Friday Night, but often while sleep deprived I would become befuddled.  I forgot what Night was supposed to be like thunder.  Did it lead into the next series of days?  I was confused.  All I could do was smile when I came up with a solution.

The solution was dire.  Days had to be recorded like histories instead of flung into the future with repetitive names.  The same for Nights.  For instance, on my voyage, there was the Night of Tumultuous Purple Atmospheric Effects, which for all remarks, was visually stunning and remarkable in its revelation of asterisms that were held behind the oxygenated Night sky like a veil of jewels.  There was also this Incredible Night Of The Veil of Jewels, where I beheld with some candor and fresh fish from the sea (sans white wine) the remarkable motion of the cosmos as it escaped the light blue murder of rays from the Sun.

Days were more focused on occurances.  There was always Routine woven in.

I landed and my musings were dismissed.  I was put up in a hovel by Nasa and forced to solve gravitational arcs for some time until I begged for The Night of Mercy when I would be done with Days of Investigative Physics For The Purposes of A Federal Space Pogrom.  That, and I was a psychic, reading cards with a flip book and pen, designing new ways of testing the young.

I needed someone who could look back into the past better than I to qualify my testing methods, but I realized that there was quite something to those Qualified Days and Nights up in my dirigible, the SS One.