You know
what I'm talking about,
right? "The Mondays" ... that withering sense of gloom and doom that
begins to creep over you, like Dutch Elm Disease, the minute you open
your eyes on Monday morning? That sinking feeling you get when you wake
up and realize that you're looking at another impossibly long,
impossibly disaffecting work week? 
The sure and depressing certainty, as you lay
there at
5:57 a.m. on Monday morning, that nobody has a suckier job than *you*
do ... and that the best and brightest hours of your life are being
wasted every day, doing stuff you hate for people you can barely
tolerate ... and that it really doesn't matter where
you work
or what you do or who
you work for: it's
always going to be like this, as long as someone else dictates how
you're going to spend the majority of your *time* and *energy*
molecules ... ?
Coming back to the office on Monday morning is always tough, but it's especially difficult after a busy and emotionally-complex weekend. Here I spend two whole days doing normal, happy, non-work-related stuff -- wedding-dress-shopping, bike riding, laundry, e-mail, afternoon library runs, Saturday night grocery-shopping, talking to the Tots on the phone, puttering around Alameda with David -- and just when I start to feel reconnected to my *real* life again ... just when I've reminded myself what's important (and what isn't), and the world has started to make sense again, and all of my priorities are properly realigned and readjusted and recombobulated .... all of a sudden it's time to turn around and head right back into the black hole again.
And that is one seriously fudked-up way to begin the week, if you ask me.