It’s been a dark and stormy day out there for most of today. It seemed quite fitting for a Monday morning, honestly although it did make it rather hard to get out of bed.
As any of my regular readers go, I don’t like Mondays much. In high school, I had an English teacher for the first two years who was a bit of an eccentric old lady. She used to pronounce “ego” as “eggo” and then whenever someone would mutter “leggo my eggo”, she used to laugh and think that it was a clever philosophical joke rather than quoting a waffle commercial. Anyway, she also had another saying she used fairly often. Whenever someone would complain about not liking Mondays, she’d say, “don’t blame Mondays. It’s not Monday’s fault it’s not a good day.”
She’s probably right. It’s just the misfortune of Monday to be…Monday. The way I look at it is that if the weekdays were represented as humans, I see them as siblings. Monday would be the anti-social sibling who was the runt of the litter and had a rather sour disposition. He probably also accidentally killed his mother while being born and thus, he has that chip on his shoulder to bear. Thus, it’s not really Monday’s fault he’s the way he is but…he could be nicer.
That was a little weird and yet another ‘too much information as to how Captain Monkeypants’ brain works’.
Nevertheless, I should try to not be so negative towards Mondays.
In this case, Monday came after a nice weekend. It was a busy one but fun. I think those make Mondays harder to bear because I didn’t have much down time and I would really prefer Monday to come a little later and be, say, Tuesday instead.
Still, if it’s the price we pay for having weekends, it’s a small one. A world without weekends would not be a good thing. Sometimes when I’m reading books about the olden days and I see that people used to work every day but the Sabbath, I feel guilty for whining so much. We really do have it easy now what with employment practices and guidelines that mandate rules for time off and permitted hours we can work.
It’s probably softened us up a little. We don’t do nearly as much manual labour as we used to and you no longer hear of kids leaving school to work in the fields at the age of 14 the way they used to in Thomas’ Hardy’s time.
Things have changed a lot since then. I think about that quite a lot too. Back in Jane Austin’s era, the ways people spent their free time was considerably different than how we do now. Back then, ladies would spend endless hours doing needlework and arranging flowers. They would read and ‘take a turn about the room’. They did not spend hours watching “Top Chef”, mowing the lawn, tiling floors or think about food all the time the way I do. I would have made a terrible lady back then because I can’t really sew very well and when I try, I end up pricking my fingers and bleeding quite a lot. I’ve tried flower arranging but, well, once they’re in the vase, they always look fine when I plop them in with no gaps. I don’t really know where the arranging comes in, honestly. I do think floral arrangements from florists look nice but I don’t have time to get those Styrofoam thingies that you stick the flowers in so they don’t flop around.
I suppose if you were an Austin-esque ‘lady of leisure’, you wouldn’t necessarily need to appreciate weekends. I mean, the whole point is to take a break from routine and have two days of leisure. If you spend all day at leisure, would they be the same?
I don’t know why I’m thinking of Thomas Hardy and Jane Austin, to be honest. I’m finding that, once more, I have gone off on a weird tangent. This is a fact for which I apologize. Maybe it’s because I referenced Mrs. Studebaker, my eccentric high school English teacher and my brain decided to honour her by thinking of literature. Of course, if that were the case, I’d be thinking more of Charles Dickens and Great Expectations which I remember vividly studying and reading in far too much detail. What stays with me from that book is the mouldy wedding cake from the lady who never got married. I think her name was Miss Havisham.
I wonder if Ms. Havisham was supposed to get married on a Monday. I bet she was.
Sorry, Mondays…I really must work harder to like you more. My apologies.