In a stunning development bound to bring a less-than-enthusiastic smile to faces across the nation, the Latvian Parliament is weighing a proposal to designate every Tuesday as a national holiday known as 'Dreary Tuesday.' This initiative, according to insiders, is a strategic attempt at combating the quintessential mood swings of the Latvian workforce during the dreaded midweek slump.

'We have Mondays, which people dread, but then Tuesday sneaks in, and somehow it's even worse. It's high time we gave our citizens a reason to look forward to, or at least survive, this day,' proclaimed Grigorijs Smilts, the lead proponent of the proposal and Member of the Parliament from the esteemed 'All-Weather Party'.

The proposal has sparked both bewildered amusement and unlikely support from various sectors. A poll conducted by the Baltic Opinion and Unexpected Inquiries Group revealed that 68% of respondents were in favor of 'Dreary Tuesday,' citing benefits such as increased napping opportunities and additional chances to contemplate the meaninglessness of existence over extended bowls of rye porridge.

'I used to dread Tuesdays. My productivity tanked to the point where it felt like I was working in slow motion,' said Jurmala resident Silvija Kalniete, an enthusiastic supporter of the bill. 'If we were to embrace the dreariness by not working at all, I’d be happy to get lost in thought or perhaps write melancholic folk songs while sitting by the misty Baltic Sea.'

However, not everyone shares the sentiment. Artis Lūdebergs, chairperson of the Latvian Association of Gruff Industrialists (LAGI), expressed concerns that the constant pause in operations could severely impact industries dependent on Tuesday productivity, such as canned fish processing and iconic knitwear production.

'We cannot possibly abandon our economic responsibilities every Tuesday,' scoffed Lūdebergs during a meeting convened specifically to debunk the idea. 'Our knitwear sector depends on that seemingly random but crucial day's output! Also, our sardines do not can themselves.'

In an attempt to mollify opposition, supporters of the bill have suggested scheduling engaging activities celebrating Latvian culture and introspection, such as competitive knitting tournaments and national 'staring out the window' contests.

'We plan to have optional but highly unsupervised group meditations on the meanings of cloud patterns and national identity, too,' explained spokesperson and cultural commentator Una Briežkalne, herself an unrepentant Tuesday defender.

The Latvian Cabinet was reportedly seen having a lively discussion over the proposal, with one minister even suggesting legislative amendments to include 'Denim Wednesday' and 'Plaid Thursday' in the future. As debate continues, the nation anxiously awaits the government's final decision on possibly redefining Tuesdays for generations to come.

As the proposal continues to circulate, what remains clear is a renewed sense of purpose — and a shared love of surreally productive procrastination — that just might come to characterize the nation's collective ethos, at least one dreary, mystical Tuesday at a time.