Another Monday morning. More Monday. More PSYCHOPOMPS. Is anyone ever really ready for Monday? Nobody is admitting it anyway, though there are probably people who would be better off not observing a weekend. Fewer weekends may have kept me out of trouble in my younger days, but whatever. Monday can still hit hard but maybe not quite as hard. Fuck it. It’s coming once a week for those of us lucky enough to wake up for it. Is the music helping today? It’s not quite reaching the desired affect of keeping me awake but it’s wicked good.

I’ve got plenty to keep me busy though, and that means plenty to keep me employed and that’s never a bad thing. Maybe today doesn’t have to be about dread. Maybe it can be about gratitude. Maybe.

Maybe fucking not!

Imagine, if you can, me sitting here in bed propped up on pillows, and chuckling. There, you’ve got it. Welcome to my post-long weekend start to the work week. That’s where things sit for the moment. It’s not so bad. It just feels so bad.

This is what it comes down to, maybe. There’s this sense of dread and I feel compelled to name it, or to name the source. That’s not so easy. Too much uncertainty. Where is the truth? Or is the truth that I’m just worn out and looking for excuses? All of the above?

Fuck it. Get up and move.