The end of last Sunday hit me like a train. Like how Voldemort probably felt when a Horcrux gets destroyed.
Weekends are gifts we get at the end of every week. If you’ve playedvideo games (or even Temple Run), they’re like superpowers you get for a limited time, in which you walk on fire and cannot be killed. Collect as much ammo or coins you want until it lasts. And then you’re mortal again.
During these games, the player becomes frustrated when he/she is unable to make the best use of this superpower. I guess I was feeling the same about my weekend.
I blew off a bunch of chores on Sunday to dedicate some time to writing, but it just didn’t happen. In fact I did absolutely nothing. I wasn’t dead, but clicking and scrolling isn’t living. And you know that wretched moment on a Sunday night when you see the clock is past midnight, that sinking feeling that the weekend is over? It was all the more difficult to swallow.
The act of sleeping then, is acceptance of this fact. And I was in denial, so I was just staying awake in defiance. I do this a lot. These thoughts were sending me into extremely negative spirals, so I decided to hell with sleep, I’ll watch the first Rocky movie. It was something I’d wanted to watch for a long time.
Though I loved the movie and the honest portrayal of Rocky and Adrian, guess what. Monday morning is still coming. And so my bad mood carried over to the next day till afternoon, when I realized something so simple and elemental.
Mondays don’t have to suck.
So I spoke to one of my more outgoing friends, and we had a loadedRajasthani cuisine for dinner. And then we went bowling. The alley was empty but for us, and the DJ was playing 90s music, from Bon Jovi to Pink Floyd to Backstreet Boys. I sang along while I bowled, while my friend grooved.
Sure, we didn’t exactly paint the town red. But a great meal, bowling and 90s music isn’t bad for a Monday night.
At the end of night, in my head, I imagined a giant Monday sign on a calendar, and it’s just seething with rage. It cannot believe I dared enough to have a good time under its very nose.
Except, this is stuff all in my head. And so are Monday blues.
These trivial things that upset us, like being unable to be resourceful on a weekend, just suck the life out of us, inch by inch. And instead of wallowing in self-pity, maybe a different picture would help. Like being a badass about it. If something is bothering you, give it Rocky’s left hook, and show the finger. Take it by the scruff of its neck, look into it’s eyes, and mutter coldly: This is my life. Who the hell are you, telling me when to feel blue?
My Monday blues went away the second I started planning the evening, and I slept like a baby that night.