I was told it would be a Thursday

I hardly notice Thursdays any more
Than the day after or before, 
The fun they may have in store, 
Or remembering to be a sore
Loser when someone doesn't pore
Over an hour with me, the bore, 
In phone Calendar as an entry, or
Other ask or call or chat, ignore
Being all that's placed to the fore. 
I hardly notice, i do not implore, 
My poetry's just some numb gore 
From lost forgotten crushes' lore.