Monday Night in Fridaville

March 24th, 2008

Mondays are not my favorite day simply because reentry into the Work World’s atmosphere is so dangerous. I could blow a gasket, experience burnout before noon, or just go off course and spiral out in a Fuck This Job flipout without warning. This morning I woke up entangled in the sheets after fighting sleep demons all night and feeling like Flat Frida. I was so emptied out that I would have called in sick if I weren’t so prone to Calvinistic guilt. When I was moping and dragging around and silently bitching because I woke up too late to eat breakfast, I suddenly thought, “What if I turn the day around?” What if I go to work and charge in the door with a Big Foot personality and make my staff feel wanted and alive and utterly necessary? Instead of waiting for someone to make me feel wanted. So I tried it. I can’t say it was a come-to-Jesus moment for everyone–maybe they didn’t even notice. But it made me think about how my aura affects the people who work with me and how their attitudes can lift me up or bring me down. I’m not having a Dr. Phil moment, but it did wrench me out of my MeMeMe modus operandi. Did I change anyone else’s day? Probably not. But I changed my own a little bit. Tonight I went to the gym with a willing body and mind, came home and took a shower to wash the day off, put on Maria Callas (I’m opening my soul to opera), poured a glass of Prosecco, cooked broccoli (ugh), decided to start a book project I’ve postponed forever, thought about a friend who is going through chemo and how valiant he is, lit an Archipelago Gardenia candle, elbowed myself into remembering that this full-moon marsh is just a few blocks away from my house (I don’t deserve such luck.), started reading Why Kerouac Matters and thought about Jack Kerouac’s and Willa Cather’s visions of America and how lonely and vast and almost foreign they are now (but felt myself falling in love with them all over again), and decided that Monday just might be my new Friday.