This is a bad admission on my part, and its timing could be no viler.
I’m a Monday person.
You know, maybe I should re-qualify that statement in a slightly less sensational way.
When I was little my grandmother would often repeat a saying that roughly translates to, “He who hangs on Monday won’t have a good week.”
She would repeat this saying ad nauseam– sometimes not even using it when it truly applied.
Lost my homework? “He who hangs on Monday…”
Burned myself with hot cocoa? “He who hangs…”
But anyway, I guess the saying stuck with me in some subliminal way, because I always find that, despite myself and despite society’s collective hatred of the idea of Monday, I have all this energy on the first day of the week that allows me to overachieve and get loads done. Usually so I can slack off the rest of the week, I shall be honest here.
In my mind, it’s such a horrid insult to have to live one whole seventh of your life cowering in fear of the unknown and feeling like there is this icy drip down your back as you lie in wait thinking of all the things you have to do –and by this torture I mean Sunday night, possibly my least favorite time of the week– that all that nervousness and ick somehow transforms during the little sleep I tend to get and oddly enough energize me. Or I guess that they at least create a slight buffer against the soul-crushing effects of living in a society where everything –most of all, the dirty dishes– is nothing but a cruel and vicious Sisyphean task.
I am a freakin’ dynamo this morning, for instance.
It’s not even noon and I’ve already cleaned the kitchen and sorted a couple of drawers and have one load of laundry going and have a huge pot of tea waiting for me to drink… mmm! I know what I’ll make for dinner and the stainless steel on the appliances is shiny enough to see my smugness. The bubs is de-mucused (he’s had a bit of a cold this week– translation: I’ve had little sleep this week) and sleeping peacefully in his little cot thing. I might even have a shot at a lengthy shower AFTER blogging; although perhaps having blogged about it might be my downfall. Oh fie on thee, sick hubris!
Monday is an okay day, you know? Especialy when you are overbusy it tends to go by fast. So we should slowly let the hatred go and embrace our inner neurotic rat.
It’s Tuesday that is the hard, barren and shoreless desert in the middle of the week anyway. Hell, at least Wednesday has a fun moniker –Humpday– while poor Tuesday only has “2X Tuesday” going on for it at Domino’s, although pizza does have curative effects so maybe that’s not so bad. And anyway, after Tuesday you don’t really have to do much of anything. In fact, the whole week is kind of a wash. Only Monday gets anything done and maybe I’m not alone in my overproductivity.
Okay. Enough of the rambling mind. Time to shower and do more laundry! And shopping! And cleaning! And then we need to take back the White House! BYAAAAAAAH!
Bubs up. Never mind.
The rock has slipped out of my grip again.