Why I hate Mondays

No day like today (I guess)

Monday is the universal day to start a diet. Ask anyone wishing to lose a few when they plan to begin. I know this, because I’ve planned to start many diets over the course of many Mondays many times. It’s the perfect day because it’s not today. There is always the benefit of space between today and Monday. However infinitesimal it is, it’s still better than taking the plunge and doing it right now. Monday is the universal day of denial, when our collective subconscious is going to break us of all of our bad habits and everything will be OK (or at least on its way to being so).

Starting a project is like starting a diet, more or less. It’s always going to happen next week, next month, once I finish this thing, or when my schedule frees up. In other words: never. Life gets in the way and it will most certainly throw a curve ball or two between now and Monday.

I’ve been meaning to start a project or two (or three). I believe they are all great ideas and will bring me great joy and personal fulfillment. But have I started any of them. Well… kinda…. Sorta, but not really. Instead, my time is occupied by working late, doing laundry and all miscellaneous menial tasks. I tell myself: Next week, when my work schedule gets less crazy.

But the thing is, just like starting a diet, doing something for oneself can be scary.

As I sit here (another late night at work) I think I might just be having an epiphany: life will always get in the way. Monday is a utopia and the only way to get anything done is to do it now. Immediately. Thinking too much will not make it happen in a more organized way. It will simply be pushed to the next Monday, or the Monday after, or maybe to Monday next month.

Blame it on Stress

My poor blog has been sadly neglected lately, but I have a good excuse – or do I? I’ve been stressed out. Not just cranky, but questioning my life choices in a big way. I suppose when it comes to life choices, they are always big. But anyway…

I was working on a very stressful project for a stress-inducing client. Half way into the project, I found myself sitting on one of those giant planter boxes that have sprouted all over the city to prevent people driving vehicles into buildings. It was early morning and I was freezing my butt off waiting for the crew to show up so that we could load in for a shoot. I was about a half hour early – I’m always early – so I just sat there, watching business people rush by in their skirts and suits and expensive coats. Women passed by, their shoes making polck-plock sounds on the sidewalk, which vibrated with each subway passing by beneath our feet. People getting out of cabs, delivery trucks maneuvering into loading docks. People with places to go and things to do.

In the midst of the early morning activity, a street sweeper slowly made his way down the sidewalk. He was listening to his iPod and he swept the curb. He wore brown Carhart winter overalls and seemed pretty content with life. At that moment I wanted to be him, to be a street sweeper. It seemed like the ideal job. No stress. Lots of time to think. Yes, for a moment (or two, or threee), I wanted to be him.