Monday, Monday

I've never been one to get "a case of the Mondays" before. Today, though, I didn't just pick up a case of them; I went to the Costco and got the entire pallet of them. (Buying in bulk saves money in the long run.) I wish I knew why. I wish I could look back at the last 24-48 hours and say, "This is why I don't feel like riding the bus to work on Monday. This is why I don't feel like working with any clients on Monday. And this is why I hope no one walks past my cube and asks how my weekend was on Monday."

But I can't.

For all intents and purposes, I had a good weekend. I did some great pre-work on next weekend's 24-Hour Film Festival entry (nothing against the rules; just some wardrobe and location decisions.) I had a fairly-o.k. show with The Outtakes, even if others thought it wasn't solid. I got to watch my daughter interact with both sets of her grandparents, which is something that always makes me proud of my own parenting skills. And there was a full hour of The Simpsons on Sunday night, which is always a plus.

So wherein lies the problem? I keep poking and poking, but I can't put my finger on it. I did not sleep well last night- daughter and dog both had problems sleeping last night- but I went through college an insomniac: I'm use to that. It is suppose to snow another 4-6 inches tonight, but I'm a Minnesotan: I'm use to that, too. There is political and economic strife at home and abroad, but I don't read the newspaper; I'm use to being oblivious.

I think I'm going to break my 4-week strike against caffenie and grb an early-morning Mountain Dew. We'll see if that helps. And if it doesn't . . . I don't know. My plans rarely have a "Step 2." If it can't get done in one or less steps, I usually hire a minority to do it. That's not true: it's just inappropriate. But the fact that I'm immediately jumping to "racial humor" is a sign that my "case of the Mondays" could be leaving.

Fly away, Mondays. Fly, fly, fly.

The 'House