Everybody complains about Mondays. Look at Facebook around noon on Monday and you realize that – while we’ve all long considered it universal – people really hate Monday. Everybody I know who spends significant time online and has a Facebook page feels the need to express their displeasure at another weekend’s passing and a new work week’s start.
I’m generally not that worried about Mondays. I tend to hate the weekend being over, but when I’m busy at work, it’s not so bad. Today is a big exception to that rule, because it’s that one Monday out of the month during which I’m returning from one of my Army Reserve battle assemblies. For those not in the know, that’s what we in the Reserve call “drill” nowadays; makes it sound a lot more Warrior-ific or something.
Anyway, that stuff kicks my butt hard when the inevitable weekend rolls around. I’m fortunate enough that I work at a place with flexible scheduling, so I am usually able to take the Friday before off. That’s massively necessary if you’re a single guy working full-time and dealing with the traffic in this area, as if I didn’t get that day off, I’d be wearing last week’s boxer shorts inside-out this week.
So I get Friday off, but the battle assembly weekend still looms. I live about half an hour south of DC and go to assemblies about half an hour north of DC, so it’s a drive. Plus, I go out of my way (often stupidly) to squeeze in some fun on these weekends. Here’s how it worked this weekend just passed:
Friday night: Go out with some friends to celebrate someone’s birthday. Drink a couple beers. In bed by midnight.
Saturday: Wake up at 5. Drive an hour or so to Fort Meade, Md. Drill (sit in an office and work on a newsletter and complain about the stupidity of the Army Reserve) until 5. Meet girlfriend and best friend and eat dinner and see a movie and go to best friend’s house and drink beers and talk about Iraq. In bed by 1.
Sunday: Wake up at 6. Go do that drill thing all day again. Start to drive home, then find out it’s cousin’s birthday and there’s a dinner about 45 minutes away from home that should be attended. Go to dinner. Go home. In bed by 10:30.
Monday: Wake up at 5!!!
Now typically, it’s not a killer, as I don’t do much Sunday night. Of course, I had the surprise birthday dinner invitation as I walked out of the Reserve Center yesterday and it would have been kind of cruddy of me to not go sans excuse. So I brought this all on myself by going.
So I come to work this morning and get to editing photos, simultaneously opening the usual Web pages I leave up all day so I can check in during a brain break: Facebook, Gmail, Twitter, Millarworld, this one here, etc. And I start seeing the weekly “weekend’s over/I hate Mondays” status parade. I usually laugh at those people, thinking “Oh, the online group loneliness of being the person who has to come up with an original way to hate on Monday, the most reviled day in the Western World outside of Earth day.” Then I realize that at some point between waking up and leaving the house, I’d joined the cacophony. BLAST!
I was all supercharged for the day, I thought. I hate this Monday with a passion every month, and this one is worse. I’m the guy who never even fell asleep in philosophy class in college, yet a member of our cleaning crew discovered me at an undisclosed point in the afternoon leaned all the way back in my chair, dead to the world. SNORING!
I hate Mondays.
At least this one.
Almost as bad as Earth Day.