As a kid, I dreaded Sunday. It meant school the next day. Waking up early. New homework assignments. More tests. No fun. And although I enjoyed school for the most part, there was just something about that part of the weekend that brought me D-O-W-N.
Ironically, Sundays are often made out to be lovely, relaxing, picnic-inducing, church-going, family supper 'oil-on-canvas' moments. And granted, I'm sure there are many folk out there who feel that way. I'm just not one of them.
That said however...had I known what was in store for me in the working world, I would have kept my griping schoolkid trap shut.
I envy people who jump out of bed with the excitement of a new day; who look forward to a job/career/purpose they love. I don't personally know ANY of you, but I do envy you. Don't get me wrong, I actually like to work. But as a full-time working mother sometimes I just need an EVER-LOVIN' BREAK ALREADY. When you wake up each morning feeling like it's groundhog's day....over and over and over....you kinda (desperately) wish you were independently wealthy.
Every weekday morning I'm dying for a few more minutes (ok, more like a few more HOURS) of sleep. In a groggy, foggy haze I shower, dress, feed my toddler, get him dressed and get out the door. But that's a VERY simplified, not-so-daunting summary of my morning...
The reality is I usually leave the house with wet hair - regardless of season. Which means of course in the middle of winter I show up to work with my hair frozen in popsicle-like chunks. (Oh-so-attractive not to mention extremely professional). I've also arrived at the office, on more than one occasion, wearing my sweater inside out and of course not noticing (and nobody telling me) until I happen to wander into the ladies room and see myself in the mirror. There was also the time I wore my underwear inside out and the other time I wore my thong backwards (call me crazy but I swear-to-god it was more comfortable that way). And please...I can't COUNT the number of times I've put on mis-matched socks. But Ok - so maybe none of those things are completely disastrous, but that's because I'm not fully conveying to you the "picture" this creates.
Let me tell you a little story...
I work for a big corporation and they're...well....very corporate. The other morning, I blew into work as I normally do...with a hair style that was less of a style and more like a half damp, half frizzy, Cousin It-type coiffe. I had a hobo bag slung across me bulging with god-knows-what, another bag hanging on my shoulder and an iced tea in each hand. Certainly that image is bad enough right? But it just so happens it had recently been a swampy 90+ degrees. Did you hear me??? The 90s!!! I live in the NORTHEAST. Suffice it to say, I don't "do" tropical. So on top of everything else, I'm a sweaty Cousin It-like mess.
But here's the thing -- because I prefer to start work early and then get home at a reasonable hour - I'm often the first one in the office which means I can tidy up a bit and make myself more presentable before the rest of the masses arrive. This morning was no different....or so I thought....
I entered the cool air conditioned building and quietly slipped into the elevator to bring me to my floor. Just as the doors were closing, (you can see it right? just like in the movies), a slim, well-dressed gentleman joined me. He smiled politely and graciously made easy chit-chat. But as soon as he had gotten onto the elevator I recognized him. He was my boss's boss's boss's...oh forget it...it's easier to start with the CEO and work my way down...that's how high up he is. He never (well, clearly not never) visits our office.
Ratty-haired, (sweaty), bag lady, (sweaty), beverage carrying, (sweaty) ME and cool, slim, impeccably dressed Mr. Corporate. (How can he not be sweating in all that corporate garb?!). It sort of felt like I imagined career suicide would feel. Now I don't want to sound overly dramatic. I did manage to hold up my end of the chit-chat and show a teensy bit of confidence, but anyone else in my shoes would have pounced at the opportunity and made the most of this rare big-game sighting...would have introduced themselves, would have offered a nice strong handshake (assuming they weren't gluttonously double fisting their iced tea that morning) and would have promptly launched their "elevator speech". And while it did actually cross my mind to introduce myself, I wasn't quite sure I wanted to give him a name to put with this Cousin It-sweaty faced-employee.
The point being...all this occurred on a Monday morning. Which only further supports my case for disliking Sundays. Hope you all have a lovely week ahead.