There is nothing elucidating about this morning. Though surely it must be my imagination, the Monday morning faces on the bus seem more creased, more severe somehow. Monday for so many of us involves the pain of realization: the necessity of resuming whatever it is we do with most of our waking lives.
So there is a search for little things that offer relief. I always forget that there's something comforting about the whirring quiet of my sterile office when the lights first flutter on. I sometimes dread coming to that office, but like so many things, once you're there, it's not so bad. Emails, papers, the soft clicking of keys and the blanketing brightness of fluorescent lights . . . but I particularly hate fluorescent lights. Ironically, they make me feel like I can't see as well. And they make me a little dizzy, or at least dazed. I would like to ban fluorescent lights from office buildings. That some people choose to have them in their home is incomprehensible to me.
But back to relief. Well . . . the biggest relief to Monday is its ending, really, because on Monday it feels like there is no moving forward- only a halting timidity, a stagnation. One is afraid to hope for relief, even.
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