Mondays are hard for me.
Friday nights are best. A whole weekend ahead, sleeping in (maybe), everyone home, kids stay up late. Saturdays are laidback, board games, walks, hockey, no rushing.
Sundays are not so relaxed, lunches to be made, bathrooms get cleaned, beds. Still, long lunches in front of the tv, music, a movie, reading, fun shopping.
Then Monday. Mondays are silent, empty house, get the kids out, husband’s gone already. Some time ago, I’m not sure when, I started to get really anxious on Mondays. My stomach turns for reasons I am unsure. I rack my brains: what did I forget?
Oh yeah it’s Monday. What is ahead this week? What bills need to be paid? Does the fridge sound like it’s dying? Is the cat licking her bum again too much? What jobs need to be done, appointments need to be kept, classes to arrive at, emails to answer, what’s the temperature, did I wash his jujitsu Gi/her black tights and what will I have to scrounge around for change today (milk money, Scholastic, hockey tickets, quarter for FreshCo cart)?
By about 7:30 on Monday morning, I’m pretty tired.
The anxiety starts to dissipate around 4:30, after I have dropped my daughter and her good friend off at their class. My son and I head home and I think I breathe deeply for the first time. I start to feel hungry. I turn the radio up louder.
I went shopping first thing today, driving in the gloomy rain. When I came back, unpacking food and Kleenex boxes with Kung Fu Panda on them, I thought maybe music would help me find a calmness I had not managed to get my hands on yet today. I picked out The Beatles ‘Revolver’, put it on, unpacked chicken and two packages of Oreos and soap and danish (does anyone else feel like danish are the one true, honest, exquisite foods left in this world?).
When ‘I’m Only Sleeping’ came on, I sat on the floor beside the cd player and I sang like I was John 45 years ago. Three times.
The crowd loved me.
I felt better. The Beatles worked this Monday. I’ll need something new next week, I am sure.Print