Despite having had sufficient hours of sleep during the night, and waking up not knowing what day of the week it is I feel unusually attracted to my bed on Monday mornings. We're like opposite magnetic poles - the bed and I. I fight with my alarm clock; press the snooze button incessantly; shove it under the mattress and fight with my will not to leave my bed. In the meantime, my somnolent self realises that it's Monday. Hurrah! There goes my all my will. Flat like a punctured tyre; and I fall back on the bed with a vengeance. I had just begun to enjoy my weekend!
I know I will be late if I don't get moving right away. Monday morning traffic jams are the worst - I can never fathom why - but nevertheless. I haven't ironed my clothes. My shoes have to be dusted; bag has to be packed. I have to fix my breakfast, shampoo my hair and make the bed. I must not be late on the first day of the week. But it's Monday, and I hate it.
Like every other Monday, I vow to myself - in the midst of a colossal chaos - that I will keep all things ready on Sunday night so that I don't have to rush around in the morning like this again next week. But these vows fleet pass just as the morning does - in a flurry, leaving me extremely agitated and at times cranky. I curse Monday, for coming back so soon. I curse myself, for getting late and not managing my time. I curse the driver for being late; he, too, is facing the morning blues it seems! I curse the whole world, for the Monday morning panic is on - yet again. This is me on a typical Monday morning, arguing with my alter ego; wrestling the weekend torpor.
Having swallowed half my breakfast and stuffing the rest in my lunch bag, with half the contents of my handbag spilling out and clutching the remaining half somehow, I leave home. Late. Making it on time is besides the point now. The real question is how late am I going to be? All through the way I wear a frown which I realise only when I get out of the car.
Few things are capable of causing as much agony and irritation as does a Monday morning. If I were to be granted just one wish on a Sunday evening, I'd ask for Monday to be sent to Pluto. Even the Sun rises with a glum demeanour on Mondays - it is the Moon's day after all!
Friday, I miss you already.
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