Mondays Always Come Early

Every week, Monday arrives with the energy of someone who has been standing outside the house since Friday, waiting for the smallest sign of movement.

It is rude, frankly.

Sunday afternoon is not long enough to be a weekend and certainly not long enough to prepare for a week. It is mostly just a series of increasingly specific realizations: there are emails. There is laundry. Someone probably needs something signed. The fridge has entered its “ingredients, technically” phase.

And then Monday is somehow there, acting as though we all agreed to this.

I know there are people who use Sunday evening to make a beautiful plan for the week: meals prepared, calendar reviewed, shoes selected, nervous system presumably consulted. I admire these people. I do not understand them, but I admire them.

For the rest of us, perhaps the goal can be smaller: arrive with your keys, enough caffeine, and a vague willingness to participate. The week will reveal itself soon enough.

It always does. Too soon, if you ask me.