Ever since my student days, I associate laundry and Sunday evenings with sadness. I did not so much have the Sunday Scaries, as I had the Sunday Sadness. With the fading light of Sunday came the knowledge that MONDAY would come. Again.
Alas, all the time I thought that I would spend on the paper was instead eaten up by fun, and the steady rhythm of my sheets and towels and clothes tumbling in the dryer felt like the ticking of the clock. You, my dear, are out of time.
Classes were replaced by team meetings were replaced by Zooms. I no longer do my laundry on Sunday nights, but the feeling remains forever associated with the chore. I stare at my laundry bag, willing myself to just go do my laundry. It isn’t so bad! But it is!
Here we are again. Monday morning. My alarm mimics the sun, slowly lighting up my room, followed by birds and a waterfall. I shut it off as soon as I hear the first chirp and greet Monday’s dawn with foul thoughts as Ollie leaps out of bed, ready for a bowl of the same thing he eats every single day.
A couple of hours later, I sit here, my hair damp, writing about Mondays. Ollie snores gently beside me, conked out after successfully wrangling treats from me and having a snuggle as I read and expressed gratitude for coffee.
I wish I could join him for a snooze. The shower, I’d hoped, would steam my eyes open and that I would emerge transformed like that Zestfully Clean commercial. I don’t even know if they make Zest anymore. I never used it, perhaps that’s why I got out and felt the same, only cleaner.
At least back in the day I was tired because I’d been out partying. Now I’m just tired from having slept. Wisdom, I tell myself. I have the WISDOM now.
A firetruck speeds past, siren blaring, a couple of the dogs in the building howl. Ollie, like me, just looks out the window. I hope for the best for whomever the siren tolls.
Off in one of the distant trees, a bird calls ooh wahooo oo oo.
Time for Zooms.
Gallery: Sundry Wonders
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