Meet My New Best Friend, Monday
On treating Mondays like a friend, and refusing to let my own mind ruin the start of this new week.
Today, I don’t feel like doing much. Mondays have that effect on me.
I cried yesterday about how tired I was. I cried about how much I love Sunday mornings but hate Sunday nights, because Sunday nights mean Monday, and Monday is a day I dread over and over and over again with each passing week. I cried about the end of the good and the coming of the bad.
On Sundays, I don’t have anything to do. I give myself permission to sleep in and clean only the parts of my house that I want to in between episodes of Love Is Blind. I have a bigger cup of coffee, because why not, and go on walks instead of runs and stop by stores to window shop and maybe spend a little of the money I have been saving away all week.
Sunday is a friend.
Monday is a responsibility.
I woke up this morning and saw the sun shining through the window, just like yesterday. But it felt different, because Monday. I walked to my kitchen and poured myself a smaller cup of coffee — can’t have too much caffeine! — because Monday. I put on a podcast instead of reading the new book I’m excited about, because Monday.
Poor, poor Monday. What did she do to deserve all of this disdain?
Monday doesn’t ask anything of me. Yet she’s the one I blame for the pressures I put on myself. She’s the one I point a finger at, when someone asks me why I don’t smile as big. Why I’m a bit crankier. Why I am having a salad for lunch instead of the BLT I was drooling over at the counter.
Monday wakes up and shines the sun for me, and I say, NO. I say, go away. I say, I don’t want to do everything I have to do today.
And she says, then don’t.
But I’m not listening, because my own voice is too loud in my own head, screaming MONDAY MONDAY MONDAY.
Today, though, I feel a bit different. Maybe it’s because I’ve been a bit burnt out lately and have less fight left in me, maybe it’s because I’m lonely and I feel like I could use some more friendly energy, or maybe it’s because Sunday and I had such a great day together yesterday and I’m not ready to sour my mood just yet. But I can’t seem to muster up the usual hate I have towards Monday.
Today, I feel a bit of warmth towards her, actually. I see that she has the potential to be more than just a responsibility, if I lower my pride and soften my stubbornness and approach her with a gentle, welcoming smile.
Today, I feel like trying, at least, to not ruin the start of my week for myself.
So I’m going to Sunday my Monday. And maybe I’ll Sunday my Tuesday, and Sunday my Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, too, while I’m at it. A week full of Sundays. A full week full of friends.
Because doesn’t that sound better than a week full of resentment?
Today, I don’t feel like doing much. Mondays have that effect on me.
So I won’t do anything at all. I’ll be just how Monday has always told me she’s wanted me to be, when I’ve finally quieted my mind down enough to listen to her. I’ll grab this Monday in a hug, and we’ll spend the day together — restful, and peaceful, and happy.
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