No monday morning blues? You are a freak.
Monday mornings are the most introspective moments in our lives. We generally pull a carpet, wheel in our office chairs on such thoughts and move on. Some idiots have said and a billion more morons have propagated the idea that if you love your work, Monday morning blues just won’t occur.
That idiotic son-of-Satan thought has made me switch not only jobs but industries some five times. The Monday mornings are still as horrible, still as philosophically depraved and still as disillusioning about the purpose of my life. Someone is lying and I will put my money on the few thought leaders and their billions of followers out there.
Monday morning blues are as natural an occurrence as grief over a partner’s death. If you have no grief, you are a weird psycho or the anal retentive type. Monday morning is death of a way of life – the weekend life. All of us slog through the week to get there, time with family, friends, our little hobbies and lots of empty time. The longing for all this is not just laziness, it is a visceral rejection of all that our lives have become.
I understand that your life may be way more interesting than mine. But if your weekdays are less interesting than your weekdays, if you long to get back to office, it means that your weekends are spent with cheap, badly designed furniture. May be, you are on the end of the see saw, looking to balance life from the other end.
The balance. Monday mornings are reminders of that primary need. But a need it is. It may prompt a few to make minor corrections, such as switching jobs, paying more attention to a hobby or subscribing to a sports channel. It may prod a few others to make drastic changes, such as buy land and start a farm or start their own business.
But it always leads to something, this restlessness, this slow cooking angst, this Tarzan in a corporate suit. Humans are created in that manner. Most of us will never be in one place, our minds never focused on one thing, our lives never dedicated to a singular purpose. And, no amount of yoga or Paulo Coelho will fix that.
P.S. – I have only half read a book of this guy and I believe shredding myself with a blunt knife will be less painful than reading his bright colored bile splashed across pages.