You should know that I’m typing this on a vertical third—the only functioning portion—of my laptop screen.
That didn’t happen today. Well, the typing did; the screen just suits the purpose.
I get into work around 8:45 usually. It’s supposed to be 8:30, but not only do we work in a lenient creative environment; the 8:30-5:30 workday is, I’m told, a product of the relatively short-lived rule of a parent company that purchased the mag shortly before I started eight years ago, and sold it back five years after that. Only a small percentage of current employees hearken back to that pre-purchase era, but most of those who do are my immediate bosses, and I get the impression they’d just as soon work 9 to 5 as the rest of us.
Anyway. I’d only just gotten my coffee—and certainly didn’t expect to be working—when the call came in at approximately 9:03 this Monday morning. The woman introduced herself, mentioned an organization I didn’t quite catch, and cited an Annual Issue we’ve just begun compiling again. She mentioned a few things that sounded familiar from years past, but certainly weren’t from this year’s—or even last year’s—issue. She seemed frustrated at this revelation. I kept trying to explain. She referenced a calendar; I told her we didn’t do that calendar in last year’s issue. She gave me a page number from last year’s issue; I…told her there wasn’t a calendar on that page in last year’s issue. She reiterated what she was looking at—this time including the name of our former-sister-publication. “Oh, yeah,” I told her. “You’re not talking to the right magazine.”
I just…I can’t deal with that kind of confusion. First thing in the morning? Nah, dude. I just wanna go home. It’s exhausting. And it sucks to look at the clock and realize you’re full-on wore out at 9:11 a.m.
And so the day went: forgotten assignments and unwelcome new ones; a failed shopping excursion and a crappy Sysco salad for lunch; a tedious afternoon and a lovely afternoon walk with McD—but one that left us both soaked umbrella-down, from ass to ankles. And I like rainy days, too. I don’t usually suffer from chronic conditions related to Mondays, but today seemed doomed from the get-go.
Not that the night is much better. I’m exhausted. I seem to have created some kind of noxious gas in my attempt at homemade tortilla chips. There’s nothing on TV but baseball, which isn’t a great pairing for exhaustion. In a world where I’ve grown to deplore Tuesdays, it’s just Monday all around.
Still, it’s a three-day work week. A premature Tuesday certainly isn’t the worst thing in the world. And if this Monday is indeed getting the Tuesdayness out of the way early, well then I guess I should have nothing to fear from 9:03 a.m. tomorrow morning.