an ode to monday


Oh this is Monday, yes.

The day I get to stand/sit and listen to music and write again. The day I start thinking about all I have to do for the rest of the week and putting it into my weekly calendar.

(November's coming, y'all - NaNoWriMo and mood-ring poeming, are you joining me?)

On Mondays, I reset. Especially this week, it seems, since souling the self surreal ended on Friday.

I love Mondays, these days. Mondays, I get to resink into me, into my own work. Into writing with music and the occasional fun YouTube link someone posts on Facebook.

(I love weekends, too. We had a fun autumn adventure yesterday, going up to visit souster B at her new digs in upstate NY. Wow, autumn is gorgeous!)

Loving Monday doesn't mean not loving any other days: I can't think of a day I don't love right now.

Admittedly, when Remy was little, and not in school, I hated Mondays - and Tuesdays even more. Mondays were ok, M came home earlier. But he usually has Tuesday classes and those can go on and on. Plus meetings.

Having a not-napping, waking-me-up-every-two-hours child was just shitty and by four I was just D.O.N.E. Pretty much every day. So his afternoon classes/ meetings really messed me up. I never could figure out exactly how to change that, but I got better at anticipating it after awhile.

And now, here we are in this older-child, actually-sleeping-child phase. Oh, love. Yeah, he still gets up sooo early. But that's so much better than waking up every two hours. Parenting is so much easier when I'm not bone tired. (I don't know what I could have changed to have gotten more sleep, I did my best.)

And that's the truth of my Mondays, of my growing up, of my now, of my then.

Oh, it was hard, hating Mondays and Tuesdays (and pretty much any day when I didn't get six hours of sleep, minimum). But I have the right regrets. I don't regret that it sucked. I don't regret that at all, because I lived it and in living through it, I reached today.

And today is good. So good. Thank you.

I am privileged. Oh, I am so privileged. I am white, I am middle class, I am married (to an awesome man), I am an educated woman in a country where I can vote and drive and I don't need to walk miles to get water for the day. Even in my bone dead tired, I was privileged that I didn't have to deal with a thousand other shitty things that life can pile on a person. My bone dead tired was just a metaphor. That's privilege.

And that doesn't mean that I don't still hurt sometimes. That I don't feel pain. (I'm human.) And it doesn't mean that I don't acknowledge my privilege and help eradicate "the privilege line" that says some of us are better than others because we aren't: we are all human. And in being human, we are all worth the same. We all deserve love and compassion and help.

So, if your Mondays are hard, I send my love out to you. I believe it will get better. I will help you make it better, if I can.

(Even the deepest grief recedes a little with time.)

Thank you, shitty Mondays (and Tuesdays) for helping me understand just a little how hard life can be.

Today is good. So good. Thank you.