Yes, the spectre of Monday morning is slowly stretching its shadowy hand over the remnants of Sunday evening as slowly we slide into another working week. And it got me to thinking. When does the weekend actually end? I know in theory that it ends with the book being closed, the alarm clock being set and the light turning out but that's not really true is it? Nope, the weekend actually ends much earlier than that when the working day routine slowly starts to gear up. There's lunches to be made, bags to be packed, baths to be had and diaries to be checked. These signallers of the week to come are also the tasks that kill off the weekend. And boy are they good at their job.
Maybe the answer to the pending Monday blues is to go out on the lash on Sunday night. You know, really stick the fingers up to The Man and in a final act of rebellion get stinkingly drunk shouting "Ha-ha! You'll never take me alive you b'stard!". But both you and I know that's just not going to happen. Oh my god, the thought of starting a week of work with a hangover. I'm shuddering at the thought.
Okay, so maybe not going on the lash. Perhaps a night out at the cinema. Yes! That's it! There's no need to get blindingly drunk to have a good time. I appreciate it's a strange concept but it is entirely possible to enjoy one's self without the use of alcohol. Or so I am told. Ahh, but wait. The cinema won't work either. That will mean getting to bed really, really late. Gone 9pm. Practically an all nighter. The thought of starting a working week tired is not something I would like to consider thank you very much. Even if I were to wear my pyjamas under my clothes, by the time I got out of the cinema, walked home and peeled off a few layers it'd be far too late. Nope the cinema is definitely out.
How about going for a nice meal? A sort of celebratory feast. Yes, that's the ticket....nope.....wait......I can't sleep on a full stomach. A restless night is not what the doctor ordered. Scratch that then.
I'll just have to grin and bear it - apply a good dose of that stiff upper lip we are supposedly famous for and get through it. It's coming whether I like it or not. Looking back, I always get through them and by the time my first coffee of the day has injected the much needed caffeine into my blood stream I've forgotten all about the ordeal. But sitting here, staring from the wrong side, it just seems....well so unfair. After spending a relaxing day strolling along on a beach, relaxing in a park or idling some time away in a cafe it just doesn't seen right to be dragged back down to earth by having to go to work. Boooo! I say. Booo with knobs on!
I can here the critisisms from here, "Oh, hark at him. Sitting there with his mild weather with spring on the way. Luxury!" But don't you see - that makes it worse! Having nice weather (although at the moment it is raining like a bastard) and beaches and parks on tap makes it all the more difficult to drag my lazy bum into work come Monday morning. And I do, of course, know that some reading this are not as lucky to have such a regular working pattern. I should count myself very lucky to have a job at all. I know. I know. And I do. Count myself lucky that is, and can only apologise if this whole blog sounds a little bit like a whinging spoilt child. I'm sorry and will try harder......but it doesn't stop Sunday evening being a total and utter bummer.
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