Have you ever experienced one of those early morning moments when you’re lightly dozing but conscious enough to realize that, somehow, during the night, everything about your environment has become magically perfect? The house is at just the right temperature and ambient light level; the sheets have been washed enough times to have achieved optimal softness, and they’re draping around you wonderfully, neither constricting nor exposing anything; and even the pillow — that accursed crap pillow you’ve never managed to beat into quite the right shape — has morphed into something that actually cradles your head instead of twisting it off on some awkward angle that leaves your neck stiff and achy all freaking day. It’s at those moments that you feel most restful and content. Even better, you know that if you let yourself drop back into full sleep, you’ll easily go for two more hours and awake fully refreshed for the first time in days or even weeks…

And then that damn cheap alarm clock starts up with its insistent, shrill beeping and you know it’s not going to stop bugging you no matter how many times you hit the snooze button and now your bladder is calling for attention, too, and you’ve got to get up because it’s Monday and you’ve got to get to the office and start the whole Sisyphean struggle all over again and the whole time you really want nothing more than to sleep and maybe do some blogging sometime after lunch…

I hate Mondays.