For good reason, the Mamas and the Papas sang that you can’t trust that day.
Monday always seems bleak. A month of Sundays sounds like a vacation. A month of Mondays sounds like living in Pittsburgh.
I write this blog on Monday after tearing myself out of bed. I wasn’t sleepy, I just didn’t want to face Monday.
When I was younger I tried to make people smile by saying how much I looked forward to Monday. If you had to go to work on Monday morning, I said, that was good–it meant that you had a job to go to. Monday is the start of everything. Monday is the jumping off point for your greatness. Monday is where you knuckle down to get the real work of the world done. Happy Monday!
Now that I’m 64 years old, Monday is just another old cranky entity telling me that my life has been wasted but I still have a lot of things to do before I can lay down my burden. I have about 15 things to do today. Which will stretch into the week.
Monday is the day I use to regret my life choices. Why didn’t I stay in the Orange County Public Defender’s Office back in 1989? Why didn’t I stay with that nice girl who really loved me? Why didn’t I start to read good books and write more when I was in my Twenties, back when I would have had a chance to get published?
Why, Monday, Why?
Monday is the furthest end of the week away from Saturday and Sunday. If Sunday is Scarlett Johannsen, Monday is Phyllis Diller.
Monday is drudgery. Monday is bleak and gray. Monday is just the start of the long torturous slog through life. All the work is put off till Monday, then suddenly there Monday is and you’re knee deep in problems.
Why, Monday, why
See? It’s already 10:10 in the morning and I’m still working on my blog instead of getting real work done. Ok, I’ve answered a few Monday emails (most of them from clients blaming me for the things they did to screw up a case). But I still have the list of stuff to get done before Tuesday rolls around.
Oh, don’t get me started on Tuesday…
Mark Bruce, Writer 