Enemy of Pants

I’ve never really been one of those “case of the Monday’s” people.  In fact, my personal weekly timeline runs thusly:

 

Monday – Not so bad.  You’re only a day past the weekend.  Coasting on weekend fumes, even.

Tuesday – Well, still, only a couple days past the weekend, and nobody’s complaining about Monday anymore.

Wednesday – Middle of the week!  You’re gonna make it!  It’s all a slow slide into the weekend, now.

Thursday – Friday Eve.  Enough said.

Friday – Is this even a day?  It never feels like one to me.  More a chance to ramp up my to-do lists for the weekend.

So, as you can see, I apparently put all my living towards two days out of the seven allotted to me each week.  Not really, of course.  I’m really, really busy, and there’s no way I could get by that way.  But I can always look forward to the stretch of hours over the weekend, where I can apply butt to chair and write without needing to do anything else.

I’m still a little slower on Monday.  It takes me a few extra minutes to write up the Tower of To-Do, and I maybe gaze blearily at the internet for a bit longer, wondering what sort of fuckery the week is waiting to unleash upon us.  But I don’t dislike the day itself.

Nope. I dislike having to put on real trousers and leave my nest. There’s just far too much “world” out here.  I’m not a fan. I think I could manage it a bit better if I didn’t have to deal with the pants.

Ah well. The best thing about Monday is that Monday night is Writing Night.  And the best thing about Monday afternoon?  Totally Music Monday:

 


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