February 6, 2006

Wretched Monday

Monday. Monday. Monday. Without the bad, you can't have the good. Even now that I'm officially out of the workforce, Mondays still give me that sick little feeling in the pit of my stomach. A whole week to do everything I need to do. A whole week to feel guilty about not doing them. A cure to Mondays might be to just have more depressing weekends. Less relaxing with friends, not as many good restaurants, more rainy afternoons. Then maybe I'd actually be prepared for the sharp kick in the gut that is otherwise known as Monday. I guess it's all about the hangover effect. The better your weekend, the worse your Monday.

I don't know why after over a year of not having to put on pantyhose and a demure attitude I am still haunted by the Monday effect. Maybe because I know that under certain circumstances, I could be thrown right back into it all. Let's say Spike gets exposed on national tv as a fan of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and dies of acute humiliation, my free ride screeches to a halt, I spend every last cent on deluxe breakfast cereal, Pixie gets taken by social services, and I have to go back to the only career I have known so far - the ambiguously qualified "administrative assistant." I would show up on my first Monday in my old black trousers, scuffed loafers, saggy green button up shirt, and too much eye liner trying my hardest to look like a cut-throat secretary who'd go to any measure to ensure my boss didn't get any calls put through that weren't of dire importance. I would take the 5 minute power lunch in the copy room - wolfing down my meal supplement bar and 24 oz bottle of water. Then it would be back to my desk where I would furiously edit, organize and prioritize for the next 5 hours until 5:30 when I scurried efficiently home.

This is still a very real future for me. I am haunted by my own administrative competence. Why couldn't I have just been an English major and have no career options to turn to so I could just go on welfare and call it a day? It's a little reassuring to me that Spike jogs every morning. As far as I can tell, his current cardiovascular health is above average so for now, I should be able to breath easy. And then just when I think I'm getting comfortable, Monday hits. At least I'm no longer having dreams about work. That was the worst. I would go to sleep, then dream about 8 hours of document review, transcribing dictation, and reasoning with impolite clients. Then I would wake up and go to work to do it all again.

Today promises to be a pretty good day. I have good company in town, a yoga class to attend, a happy baby who thinks I'm funny and dinner plans at a great restaurant in Chinatown. So you'd think I could shake the Monday blues. But instead I liken myself to those Desert Storm troops. There is a lingering malady that will haunt me for the rest of my life. The ghost of office work. I'll be happily going along my day and then somebody will mention something about an Excel document and I'll fall into a pit of depression and formulas. Before I know it, I'll be swapping tips with them about how to format columns so that any information, regardless of length can fit into a given column without affecting the print area or spreadsheet layout.

So Tuesday, I know you are galloping in on your white horse to save me. I pine for you. I dream of you. I hope you bring the promised peace from Monday that I remember from last week. Let us all hope it is so. I'll wait for you, my sweet - till then.

6 comments:

Stephanie said...

Hey, wait a minute! "Why couldn't I have just been an English major and have no career options to turn to so I could just go on welfare and call it a day?" I resemble that remark--I'm an English major, missy! And an admin asst! But you do have a point. I have no clue what to do with my degree.

I've wondered the same thing once we reach the stage where Kyle graduates and I can stay home with Katie. I had nightmares for years about missing classes in high school which have now progressed into missing college classes but to imagine they might further morph into work dreams? When will the psych torture stop? Can I file for PTSD and get disability from the university? From my employers? So, I guess my rambling point is I'm with you on the Monday Blues. Right on, sista!

A Ripple Effect said...

Wow. I was and English major too. I did the Admin. Assistant thing for a year. I quit. I loathed my boss. Mondays = one of Dante's nastiest levels of Hell. Now I work in a credit office doing collections. Go figure. Monday's aren't as bad. I think it has something to do with how much you actually like your job. Perhaps, if you do have to enter the work force again, you should apply for something else.

Sarah said...

Okay, I've got to admit I was fishing for a response from you English majors! After all the times you guys have corrected my bad Texas grammer, I thought I would slip in a little jibe. But trust me, I've got nothing but love for you guys. Let's replace English major in my post with Rocket Science major. Now there is a useless education! Please also take into account that I'm a lowly Sociology major and I can't think of a single job those guys fill.

And you better believe that if I do enter the work force again, I'm going to be a taste tester for Winchell's Donuts. Mmmm... donuts...

Katherine said...

Ok so I am no English major and I don't have a lovely 9 to 5, but Mondays still stink! You would think after 5 years of flying and not having to get up at a certain time every morning I would be over it. I think all of those years in school really embedded a bad taste for Monday. I am so over Monday, Friday here I come!!

A Ripple Effect said...

I hope you don't mind, but I've added your link to my site. Thanks for your insight. I really appreciate it.

Molly said...

Thanks, Sarah. Those of us who have a job are going to get fired from said job for laughing outloud at your posts and subsequently getting caught reading non-work-related items online.

I'll be on your doorstep tomorrow morning asking for a bowl of cereal since I will no longer be able to afford my own.