about Mondays

It’s so cliche to have an opinion about Monday.

So much so that I feel kind of dumb admitting to having any feelings whatsoever about it.

Dumb is okay, though, so I’ll just go ahead and say…

I have no clue why it works this way, but my bed is always the most comfortable on Monday morning. Lucy chooses that time to not have her feet in my kidneys, my pillow is positioned perfectly, and the room temperature is finally (finally) neither freezing nor stifling.

And at that point, at the apex of perfection that it took the entire weekend to achieve, the damned iPhone alarm starts blaring (I have never found a good ringtone to wake me up that doesn’t simultaneously piss me off) and it all disappears.

It’s all psychological, I know.

Still. Garfield was so right, all along.



I ramble a lot.


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