Days, not all of them, of the Week

Sunday, a day of reckoning. A gauntlet that must be endured before you can face Monday. A test to see if you are adequately equipped to endure a week of work, toil, drudgery. When Gandalf fought the Balrog in mines of Moria it was his Sunday. He came through, stronger, better suited to deal with the Monday facing him in Mordor. After a while, though, Sunday starts to take its toll. 

In your twenties the worst part of Monday is the pain from ill spent Sunday evenings. Headaches pounding on temples, roiling stomachs protesting hunger, and then food. Too little sleep, too much light, every noise an explosion. Monday evening and all you can think of is sleep, until work is over, and then a few drinks, some spicy food, and a lazy evening of televised re-runs and low level complaining.

Thirties and you start worrying about Mondays, all the weekends work in a big traffic jam on your desk, clogging up your inbasket, this was before email, piling up right behind your door. "Surprise!" It shouts, as you walk in, bashing you with to-do lists, envelopes, folders, orders that seem insurmountable, and overpowering. As soon as you wake up Sunday you start dreading Monday. Monday, the bane of Mankind, and Womankind. Alarm clocks, Mondays, television evangelists, and politicians, the modern day plagues.

Then you hit fifty, rapidly closing in on sixty, and Sunday becomes Monday's evil ally. Email brings evil reports, armies on the march, time running short. Monday is waiting, club in hand to bludgeon you with tasks. You are stuck in a programming loop, If Sunday, then Monday, repeat. Endless, infinity, no escape, no surrender.

Of course, if you can only hold on, Friday is coming. A reward for making it through the week, a glorious vacation before the weekend. Maybe things do workout.

See you on the other side, friends, together we can do this. Send me your best Monday or Friday picture and I will highlight them in my new movie. "Days of the week, explained."