Subjective Monday

Oprah was in my last dream of the night, the one I remember because the alarm went off in the middle of it. This is particularly odd because I don’t watch television. At all. I haven’t for years, and when I have the opportunity to, I end up passing because it bores me and the ads stress me out. But apparently my subconscious decided Oprah was a good symbol.

I’m baffled.

Anyway, welcome to Monday. Monday mornings are usually slow for me, not in an objective sense (it’s the same routine as every other weekday, up at five, run, make lunches, harry the kidlings into eating and getting ready, kisses and homework checks and finally the schoolbus heaving into sight) but more subjectively, because Sundays I’m not allowed to run. After a more than a year of running mostly-six days a week, my body’s grown to need that endorphin rush. I’m addicted to the damn treadmill, and Sunday evenings I’m usually a bit itchy. I know my body needs the recovery time, but jeez. I get mildly cranky, and Monday mornings my body bitches very loudly at me that it’s missed a day’s worth of endorphins and what the hell am I doing to it now? It takes three miles or so for me to settle into the day.

Anyway. Look, medieval steampunk, sort of! Heh.

I do have a rant in mind, but I want to give it another night’s sleep to marinate in before I decide to say anything. (This is my attempt at maturity. We’ll see how it goes.) Today is for Revisions, Revisions, Revisions, so I’d best get started. Deadlines wait for no-one, and all that. I’m actually glad to have this mountain of work ahead of me. Hard work I can handle. Being out of work I don’t like one little bit.

Hope your Monday is tranquil and productive, dear Reader. Or at least, passable.

Over and out.

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