discardia

I don’t know why I dislike Mondays so much. It is not like I was beat up every Monday as a child, or that my boss calls me and tells me to go scrub the toilets every Monday… it is not a programmed aversion in the great circuit board of my brain or anything. But nonetheless, I spend most of the days on Monday wondering just what I should do first. So lunch comes around and I have done something between “not much” and “very little” in terms of real, actual work. Sitting at my desk collectively paralyzed by the small mountain of stuff that I need to address, not to sure which thing I should tackle first, if at all. So it waits, and it stares at me, like a very hungry dog with big ol’ eyes, licking its chops as I eat my PB&J.

“Sounds like somebody had the case of the moan-days.”

I do love PB&J though. Whomever decided to put jelly and peanut butter together for the first time deserves to sit at the left hand of God. The holy spirit can sit on his shoulder. I have eaten PB&J’s for the majority of my lunches since I was a tot, and I don’t see any reason to change.

Which is weird, because I don’t like Grilled Cheese or Chicken Soup or Mac&Cheese or those other childhood favorites that others have. In fact, I think they are disgusting. Just because I ate them often as a kid, and know I dislike them severely, but not my dear ol’ PB&J.

And work is still staring at me. Little bastard won’t let me eat in peace.

Sigh.