I have a sister whose greatest joy in life is complaining about Mondays. Her second favorite thing is complaining about how short weekends are. Not surprisingly, she has a job that she very intensely hates.
She has collected and shared thousands of ‘I Hate Monday’ memes. An inordinate amount of them involve kitty cats complaining about Mondays. Personally, I have never known a single kitty cat who hated Mondays. I have never known a single kitty cat who even knew what Mondays are.
Of course she is not the only one who complains about Mondays. I hear it from a lot of people. You can almost tell how much someone hates their job by how much they complain about Mondays. It seems to me, though, that complaining about Mondays only intensifies the burden of beginning a new work week.
When I hear people complain about Mondays it is very hard for me to empathize. It’s not that I love my job. It is because Mondays are my Friday. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are my weekend and Thursday is my Monday. While Tuesdays and Wednesdays certainly go way too quickly, I never complain about Thursdays.
Sure I sometimes feel that twinge of anticipatory dread on Thursdays just before I start yet another work week but I don’t complain about it. It only amplifies the dread and gets me started on the wrong foot, so to speak.
On Mondays, when everyone else is complaining, I do, however, feel twinges of anticipatory euphoria knowing that my weekend is about to begin.
I have thought a lot about time over the course of my life. I have just about almost come to the conclusion that time is not real. It’s just something we humans made up. The only real time is the present moment. (And that may be an illusion, too.)
By inventing time and clocks and calendars did we humans royally screw ourselves over? Did we enslave ourselves? Did we create the hamster wheel we are on? Did we create a whole boatload of unnecessary struggle for ourselves?
Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we had never named the days of the week or the months or numbered the years? Have you ever wondered what it would be like if every day was just another day?
Whoops, Paul McCartney just started singing in my head.
Well, I could blabber on about concepts of time for hours but I just glanced at the clock and I see that I had better wrap this up and get ready to go to work. Thank goodness the days are named and numbered so that my boss knows when to pay me.
So I’m off to work but I’m not complaining about it. In about six hours my weekend will officially begin.
Thank God it’s Monday!
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