Monday Came in Like It Had a Personal Grudge

My alarm went off at 6:30 Monday morning, and for approximately twelve beautiful seconds, I didn’t know what day it was.

Then I remembered.

Monday.

The weekly reminder that apparently society expects me to participate.

I hit snooze because I believe strongly in setting achievable goals.

Nine minutes later, the alarm went off again. I hit snooze again. This continued until my alarm stopped being a helpful electronic device and became an increasingly desperate intervention.

Eventually, I got up.

Not because I was ready.

Because my bladder had joined management.

I shuffled into the kitchen looking like someone who had recently been exhumed and immediately started making coffee.

Except I forgot to put the mug under the machine.

So my coffee poured directly onto the counter.

Excellent.

Nothing says, You’re going to crush this week! quite like standing barefoot in a puddle of Colombian roast at 7:04 in the morning.

I cleaned it up and made another cup.

This time I remembered the mug because apparently I’m capable of personal growth.

Then I opened the refrigerator and stared inside for several minutes.

I wasn’t hungry.

I just felt like the refrigerator might have answers.

It did not.

By 8:00, I was dressed, had my coffee and pretending to be a functioning member of society.

This illusion lasted roughly seventeen minutes.

I couldn’t find my keys.

I checked the counter.

My purse.

My coat.

The bathroom.

The bedroom.

The kitchen again because apparently I believed the keys might have spawned there since my previous search.

Nothing.

Eventually I found them.

In my hand.

We will not be discussing this further.

I left the house.

Halfway down the street, I became convinced I’d forgotten something important.

Wallet?

Got it.

Phone?

Got it.

Keys?

Shockingly, yes.

My dignity?

Let’s not start asking impossible questions before 9:00am.

The rest of the morning continued with Monday’s usual subtle elegance.

I dropped something and kicked it farther away while trying to pick it up.

I walked into a room and forgot why I’d gone there.

I typed a message, reread it three times, sent it and immediately discovered a typo large enough to qualify as its own municipality.

Then someone cheerfully said, “Happy Monday!”

Happy?

Monday?

Pick one.

Around lunchtime, I decided the day needed a reset.

I would eat something healthy, drink some water and approach the afternoon with a positive attitude.

This was an excellent plan.

Unfortunately, my positive attitude was unavailable, so I ate something vaguely beige and hoped for the best.

By 2:30, time stopped moving.

I checked the clock.

2:31.

I answered some messages.

2:33.

I completed an entire task.

2:36.

Apparently Monday afternoon operates in geological time.

At 3:15, I had reached the stage of the day where every minor inconvenience felt deeply personal.

Dropped a pen?

Of course.

Wi-Fi slow?

Naturally.

Someone wants something from me?

The audacity.

At one point, I whispered, “Are you kidding me?” to absolutely nobody.

Nobody answered.

Smart.

Then, somehow, against all odds, the clock finally reached the end of the day.

I had survived.

Was I productive?

Debatable.

Was I graceful?

Absolutely not.

Did I accomplish everything I’d planned?

Let’s not ruin this moment.

But I had made it through Monday without fleeing into the woods and beginning a new life as the mysterious forest woman locals occasionally leave sandwiches for.

And sometimes that’s enough.

So I went home, put on comfortable clothes and congratulated myself on another successful Monday.

Because adulthood isn’t always about thriving.

Sometimes it’s about stumbling through the day holding coffee, muttering obscenities and refusing to let Monday finish you off.

Besides…

Tomorrow is Tuesday.

Which is basically Monday wearing a fake moustache.

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