As much as I hate to say it, I definitely have a case of the Monday's. I got up this morning, took my shower, picked out some clothes, and straightened my hair. With a hot coffee in my hand, I got in the car and started the commute to work. Living in the greater Seattle area, I am one of the lucky few that doesn't have to fight traffic on my way into the office. I was busy the moment I set my foot in the door. Between running reports, drafting processes, and whatever else I had on my plate I could barely find time to drink my coffee. I was able to keep up with everything until about half an hour before I was headed home. I just wanted to sit there and stare into space. I didn't want to even look like I was working. I didn't want to try to keep working, I didn't even want to sit in my chair for a minute longer. I wanted to lay down on the floor and eat cookies.
But I didn't. I stayed in my chair. I kept the keyboard clicking as I pushed my self to keep working. I made it through the last half an hour and could hardly keep from skipping out to the car. As soon as I could get into the door of the house, I was on the couch under the blanket, relaxing to some good, old television. Jack was bouncing around the room, happy to be out and about. I was in bliss until it dawned on me, that I was going to have to make dinner. Now I am no longer happy. I am grumpy and angry. I can't think of anything to make, don't want to make anything, don't want to lift a finger. I am only twenty-five but the idea of making one more dinner, let alone hundreds more, is enough to make me go crazy.
I am having a case of the Mondays.