Monday Called. I Declined the Invitation.

My alarm went off at 6:30 Monday morning, which was incredibly rude considering I had done absolutely nothing to deserve that kind of treatment. I opened one eye and stared at the ceiling. For several seconds, I genuinely considered whether employment was necessary. Surely there had to be another option. Could I become independently wealthy by noon? Was there an opening somewhere for a professional napper? Could I sell pictures of my feet? No. Nobody needed that kind of negativity on a Monday.

The alarm went off again. Apparently, Past Me had set three alarms because Past Me didn’t trust Morning Me. This was insulting but, unfortunately, accurate. I slapped at my phone until the noise stopped and whispered, “I don’t consent to Monday.” Monday did not care.

I rolled over and began negotiating with myself. If I skipped the shower, I could sleep another fifteen minutes. If I didn’t do my hair, that was another ten. If I wore yesterday’s pants, we were approaching twenty-five. If I quit my job entirely, I could sleep until Thursday. That last option had potential.

Eventually, I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled toward the bathroom looking like something that had recently been exhumed. I caught my reflection in the mirror and immediately looked away. We weren’t ready to communicate yet. I brushed my teeth with my eyes closed. This is a skill I’ve developed over years of refusing to participate in mornings.

Then came the first major decision of the day: clothing. I opened my closet. Everything required effort. Buttons? Absolutely not. Zippers? Aggressive. Anything that needed ironing? Who did I think I was, royalty? I finally selected an outfit based entirely on one criterion: Could I theoretically nap in this? Yes. Perfect.

By 7:10, I was in the kitchen attempting to make breakfast. I put bread in the toaster and stood there waiting. A few minutes passed. Nothing happened. I stared at the toaster. The toaster stared back. I pushed the lever again. Nothing. “Are you seriously doing this to me today?” Then I noticed it wasn’t plugged in. Excellent. We were off to a strong start.

While the toast was cooking, I made coffee. I poured myself a cup, added cream, took a beautiful, life-restoring sip…and realized I had forgotten to put coffee grounds in the machine. I had made hot beige water. I stood in the kitchen holding my mug, wondering whether crying before 8:00am counted as cardio.

My cat wandered in, stretched luxuriously, ate breakfast, and immediately returned to bed. I watched her leave. “You don’t pay rent.” She didn’t even turn around. I respected the confidence.

By 7:42, I was finally ready to leave. I grabbed my bag, my keys, my lunch, and my dignity—which, admittedly, was hanging by a thread—and walked outside. I got into the car. Then I remembered my phone. Back inside. Found the phone. Back outside. Got into the car. Forgot my travel mug. Back inside. Found the mug. Back outside. Got into the car. Couldn’t find my keys.

I checked my pockets, my bag, the passenger seat, and under the seat. Nothing. I went back inside and searched the kitchen. No keys. Living room. No keys. Bathroom. Why would they be in the bathroom? Who knows? Monday rules are different. I finally returned to the car and discovered the keys. They were in the ignition. I had apparently reached a level of exhaustion where I was hiding things from myself.

Traffic was horrible. Everyone on the road seemed equally offended by Monday. Nobody was driving so much as reluctantly migrating toward employment. At a red light, I looked at the person in the car beside me. She looked at me. We shared a brief moment of understanding. Neither of us wanted to be doing this. Then the light turned green, and the person behind me honked approximately 0.0004 seconds later. “YES, KEVIN, I SEE IT.” I don’t know if his name was Kevin. He just had Kevin energy.

I arrived at work eight minutes late and attempted to sneak to my desk unnoticed. “Good morning!” someone chirped. There is always one. Every workplace has a person who arrives Monday morning smiling like they’ve been personally sponsored by sunshine. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” I looked out the window. It was raining sideways. “Absolutely magical,” I said. They smiled. Apparently, sarcasm doesn’t work on morning people.

I sat down at my desk and opened my email. Forty-seven unread messages. I closed my email. Sometimes self-care means refusing information. Thirty seconds later, I opened it again because apparently I enjoy suffering. The first email began, “Happy Monday!” Delete. Not the email. Just emotionally.

The second email said, “Quick question…” There is no such thing as a quick question at work. “Quick question” is corporate language for “I’m about to ruin the next forty-five minutes of your life.” Then came a meeting invitation for 9:00am. The subject line was “Monday Morning Team Energizer.” I stared at it. Team. Energizer. At nine. On Monday. This felt like a violation of several international treaties.

At 9:00, twelve of us gathered around a conference table. Eleven looked like hostages. The morning person was there, of course. Our manager smiled and said, “Let’s go around the room and share one thing we’re excited about this week!” Silence. Somebody coughed. A chair squeaked. I considered climbing out the window, but we were on the third floor and I wasn’t committed enough.

Eventually, it reached me. “What are you excited about?” I thought about it. “Friday.” Someone snorted. The manager wrote something on her notepad. Probably “not leadership material.” Fair.

After the meeting, I returned to my desk determined to accomplish something. Anything. I made a to-do list: answer emails, finish report, return phone call, schedule appointment, organize files. I looked at the list. The list looked ambitious. So I added “make to-do list” at the top and immediately checked it off. There. Momentum.

At 10:17, I had accomplished exactly one additional task: moving a paperclip from one side of my desk to the other. Then my computer froze. I clicked. Nothing. Clicked again. Nothing. Naturally, I clicked fourteen more times because perhaps the computer hadn’t understood the urgency. A little spinning circle appeared. “Don’t you dare.” The circle continued spinning. “I’m warning you.” My computer shut down. I stared at the black screen. There are moments in life when you discover who you truly are. Apparently, I am someone who threatens office equipment.

At noon, I finally went to retrieve the lunch I had so responsibly remembered that morning. I opened my bag. No lunch. I had brought a reusable grocery bag containing one roll of paper towels and a receipt. My lunch was sitting on the kitchen counter. I stared into the bag. The paper towels offered nothing.

So I went to the break room vending machine and bought chips and a chocolate bar. Balanced meal. Potatoes are vegetables. Chocolate comes from a bean. Basically a salad.

At 2:00pm, my energy completely disappeared. Not gradually. It simply left. One moment I was typing an email. The next, I was staring at the word “regarding” and wondering whether it was even a real word. Regarding. Regarding. Regar-ding. What a ridiculous word. I Googled it. Yes. Still a word.

At 3:14, someone asked if I had “a minute.” I did not. I had approximately three functioning brain cells, and two of them were arguing over what we should have for dinner. But I smiled and said, “Sure!” Because apparently adulthood is mostly saying “Sure!” when every molecule in your body is screaming, “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

At 4:30, I began watching the clock. At 4:31, I checked again. This was going to take a while. At 4:47, I started shutting things down. At 4:52, my coat was on. At 4:55, I was holding my bag. At 4:58, I had spiritually left the building. At exactly 5:00, I disappeared so quickly there should have been a cartoon-shaped cloud where I’d been sitting.

When I finally got home, I opened the front door. My cat was lying exactly where I’d left her that morning. She stretched, yawned, looked at me, and rolled onto her other side. I dropped my bag on the floor. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.” She closed her eyes.

I changed into pajamas at 5:17pm, which felt less like changing clothes and more like returning to my natural form. Then I remembered that I was an adult and adults have responsibilities after work. Dinner needed making. Laundry needed folding. The dishwasher needed emptying. The garbage needed taking out.

I stood in the kitchen looking at everything that needed doing. Then I looked at the couch. The couch looked at me. Unlike the to-do list, the couch understood.

I ordered pizza. The laundry could stay in the basket. The dishwasher wasn’t going anywhere. The garbage could survive another night. Sometimes adulthood isn’t about doing everything you’re supposed to do. Sometimes adulthood is recognizing that you’ve already worn pants, answered emails, attended a Team Energizer, fought with a computer, eaten vending-machine salad, survived traffic with Kevin, and remained employed despite repeatedly considering escape. That was enough personal growth for one day.

I climbed under a blanket. The cat climbed onto my lap. The pizza arrived. For the first time all day, everything felt right.

Then my phone buzzed.

I looked at the screen. A calendar notification: “Tomorrow: Tuesday.”

I smiled. Tuesday. Beautiful. Anything but Monday.

Then I remembered I had a meeting at 8:00am.

I put my phone facedown.

“That sounds like Tomorrow Me’s problem.”

The cat purred.

Finally, someone agreed with me.

💜 Enjoying the chaos that is my life? Subscribe to The Cool Beans! It’s cheaper than therapy and slightly more organized 🤣