I’m sure I’m not the only one out there who thinks that every day has a certain feel. And today is very definitely a “Monday”. I’m not quite sure how an entire case of them would feel, but I imagine it’s something like the hangover you get from drinking an entire bottle of red wine (O those tannins will get ya!) in eight minutes, when you’re PMS-ing, and the rusty spoon you want to use to scoop out your uterus is instead being used to scoop out your brains through your right temple, while you’ve been waiting in the ER for four hours to stitch up a one-inch cut down the center of your left pinkie. That would just about be a case full of Mondays. Today is not so bad and involves none of those things, thankfullly, but still. Monday. Meh.
Maybe I need a rival, someone to spur me on, to challenge me with the verbal fisticuffs that will become the stuff of legends of yore. García Márquez was one of my favorite writers before I read that article, and now I heart him so much more. Other things I currently heart: that time Friday night when you realize that you have an entire 48 hours to just let go, Ricky Nelson, his son Sam but definitely not Matthew or Gunnar, and the idea that someday I will bear a son and name him Gunnar.