Posted on | November 24, 2014 | 1 Comment
Sometimes Mondays just suck because they’re Monday and, you know, not Friday or Saturday or some other day that means you get to stay in your pajamas all day and act like you have nothing in the world to do. And sometimes Mondays suck because they follow a weekend that wasn’t quite what you had in mind when you raced out of your office at 5ish with the wind blowing your hair back like a freaking romantic comedy heroine.
This Monday sucks because my weekend was… just plain awful.
Well, that’s not entirely true. In fact, there were parts of my weekend that were pretty great. I got a lot of cleaning done around the house, and that’s good. I randomly decided to cook a ton of deliciousness, and that’s always fun. And Banks and I got to take J to an entertainment complex for a birthday party that just so happened to be the scene of our first date. So there were moments of awesome in an otherwise lackluster weekend.
It all started to go south when I made a quick run to The Fresh Market on Friday to pick up a bag of my all time favorite coffee. It’s only out around Christmas and every year, I stock up so that it lasts me through February. I wandered around the coffee aisle in circles, looking, only to find it wasn’t there. The produce clerk I spoke to said it was possible it just hadn’t arrived yet, so I went back on Saturday when the coffee manager would be working to ask again.
Oh the Peppermint Creme coffee that I live for? Yeah… it’s been discontinued.
I seriously almost cried. I bought a little jar of peppermint extract and have been diligently pouring it into my morning coffee BUT IT IS NOT THE SAME. Yes, I realize this is a stupid problem to have in light of everything else in the world, but dammit… I love that coffee.
From that moment on, everything just deteriorated.
The dinner I cooked on Saturday night (pasta with portabella cream sauce and sauteed shrimp) made Banks and I both feel awful. The Moravian Sugar Cake I tried to make was either made with bad yeast or I just suck at making them because the dough didn’t rise, leaving behind a sugar covered block of grossness. (Don’t think I didn’t eat the sugar off the top. Because I did. All of it.) And then on Sunday, I cleaned most of the morning, and baked a lot, and listened to Banks and J argue with each other about the world’s stupidest things. J never got out of his pajamas all day and cried three times. Banks did get out of his pjs, but spent the day being irritable at the sofa, or maybe the television, or maybe the football scores… or maybe J and I. No telling. But it wasn’t a good day for any of us. I think I yelled at J nine billion times.
And now it’s inexplicably Monday again, and I’m still just pissed off about my weekend.
First world problems, yes, but still… enough to make you want to call it a week already. Because when I don’t get to relax on the weekend, the whole week just feels… long. Like all I do is work. From work at the office to work at home and then back again… an endless, spinning merry go round of too. much. work.
Maybe I should have spent yesterday in MY pajamas.