Nothing Against Monday

This is a Monday morning. Nothing special about it. A day of work, a day of routine; indeed, it has already begun in the way in which it will probably continue.

My day starts with dogs, of course. The routine is to get out of bed, potty, stand at the top of the stairs while the dogs run eagerly to the bottom of the stairs, warn Jackson not to piss in my house, limp slowly down the stairs, and let the dogs out. After a couple of minutes of 'out' they are ready to come in and have treats. Then back outside to be fed. While pups are eating, I make coffee. I spend some time outside with the dogs, usually poking up the fire in the backyard.

When I return to the house I have coffee and play a couple of computer games. Then play a couple games of Scrabble online. Do some work around the house or yard. Let the dogs in and out. Since I want to be at work at 11:00 AM most days, I bathe no later than 10:00 AM. Sit around in my towel for half an hour playing Scrabble again. Dress, eat a can of soup, go to work.

I admit it is a slow and lazy routine. I consider myself lucky to indulge in the luxury of leisure. It wasn't always like this...

Ten years ago I was busting my ass to support myself and my teen daughter. I had a paper route in the morning, an 8-hour a day job in a factory, and a paper route in the afternoon. I put in a 14-hour day five days a week, at least. If the factory had overtime, I worked it. Working 14 hours a day was better than being on welfare(aka Department of Human Services...DHS...I loathe them and what they do.).

I did this for two years. No car; the ex-husband got to keep the one vehicle that was functional. I did have a friend that I could call on if we truly had an emergency. I walked 6 to 8 miles a day, seven days a week. As you may gather, there was little leisure in that routine.

The morning newspaper that I delivered went out every day of the week, 52 weeks a year. No holidays off; I delivered a paper on Christmas Day, Easter Sunday, and of course, every Monday for three years. Delivering the newspaper is what made every day just a day.

The first year that I carried the paper I was married to Hubby#2. While I delivered a paper every day, he conceived a grand antipathy toward Monday(s). I used to sing bits of the Boomtown Rats' "I Don't Like Mondays" while I delivered papers. I laughed at the man and his silliness; a distaste coupled with alcohol became an obsession that took up a lot of space in his head.

The day he asked me to call his boss and say he wouldn't be in to work was the last conversation we had about his dislike of Mondays. I asked him if he was ill and he said 'No.'

"I just don't like Mondays." Wow; deja vu all over again.

I asked another question: "What difference does it make? If you don't go in today, Monday, then Tuesday will be the start of the week. Will you begin to not 'like' Tuesday, too?"

"I don't know." he replied sullenly.

I could see he was already beginning to pout cuz I'd poked a hole in the balloon of his obsession. He was so caught up in his life that he never noticed what my life had become. So much for marriage... That difference in perception of Monday(s) was only one of many differences that brought that marriage to an end.

Now, for me, days are just days.