Hello, Monday.
It's you again. Please don't ask me to account for the past few 48 hours, Monday. The weekend is always a blur to me, and not for the reasons most people cite when calling it a blur.
But you're here now, Monday, all fresh and squeaky clean. Yet I often feel a bit nervous on the eve of your arrival, as if I'm fated to blow something. As if I'm bound to let someone down. Miss an appointment. Forget to pick up kids. Run out of gas. That sort of thing.
I'm really going to keep my head in the game this week, Monday. There's company on the way. A recital to practise for. People who need things. A house that defies my firm hand. A mutinous laundry basket.
Other people make it look so easy, Monday. They look like they line you up in their crosshairs and shoot you right off the fence post. Pow!
And then they line up Tuesday. Bullseye.
Monday, I'm not going to do that to you. I'm not that alpha. But in return, I'd like for you not to tackle me like I'm some wimpy kid holding a football. I'd like for you to take me out of your crosshairs.
Because sometimes I feel like I'm a scruffy, wide-eyed rabbit scampering across the landscape, not especially focused but well-meaning, nevertheless.
When...pow!
We're one day into the week and already Monday blows me to smithereens.