work or play
Dear Monday, I’ll admit, I’m not a big fan of yours. Somehow I’m happy to get up early on your sister days, Saturday and Sunday, to read my Writers and Poets mag and scan the internet for things I can Pin, they, well, they make me feel good. You on the other hand, you make me want to stay in bed, which I inadvertently do, which leads to me running around my house, trying to pour coffee, find my son’s binder while choking down some toast before trying to make up a little time on the drive to his school without being an irresponsible driver. I better that line and its because of you.
But when get into you, after the chaos of your awakening, I seem to settle in for the ride. I remember that I’m lucky enough to spend my day doing the thing I love, writing. And that without you, I’d have one less day to do it, to get those words out and spend time with my characters. To see what kind of corner they’ll get themselves into only to have me guide them through the trap door so they can continue on their journey.
When I’m sitting in my writing cave, strung up lights lit and dangling above me, tunes playing a little too loud and my blinking curser waiting to finish a line, I start to feel the love. Yes, even for you Monday. I’ll admit it, when I’m at work and it feels like play, I like you better.