I had been getting better about conquering the Sunday blues, but then, wham. I hit a slow period at work and I’m right back in that all too familiar place where Monday morning feels like volunteering for a root canal I don’t need.

It’s not entirely rational to assign all of life’s woes to a limited concept of a day, though it’s also not irrational to push against the idea of having to get up and put on actual pants. Maybe we need a softer transition from the laxity of the weekend to the demands of desk jockeying.

Otherwise, Sunday night becomes kind of a shit show.

I’ve heard people claim they love Mondays because they love beginnings, and while I’d agree that I like beginnings, I can’t say the start of the work week feels much like one. Maybe that’s my problem. I’ve been too focused on all the things Monday brings to an end.

Yeah, magic. The magical knowledge that tomorrow is Tuesday, and then the day after that is Wednesday. Then before you know it, it’s Friday again and then the mess fun starts over again. It’s also not a crime to do something fun on a day that is not a weekend. Go get coffee, wear your favorite unicorn underwear. Take an hour (or two) for lunch, but not to sit at your desk reading blogs.

I survived Monday, and you can too.