Monday, Monday

[Peg Herring]

I like Mondays. The slate is clean (sort of) and enthusiasm is high. I make a list of the week's target tasks, both personal and professional. It's an odd mix: "clean cat pans" is right next to "design new workshop" and "tighten Chapter Six." It works for me, though, as I work through my week on a schedule of my own choosing. Sometimes I think about all the years I spent in education, answering bells, shifting gears every hour: "Speech class now," "Oh, now it's world history." "Am I ready for American lit next hour?" When did I have time to "ideate"?

I'm just as busy now as I was then, but it's my own busy-ness, my own plan, and on the down side, my own self-induced pressure. Nobody said I have to publish a book but me. Nobody says I need to write/publish another one but me. But on Monday those goals call to me, and I find that they make the more prosaic tasks: laundry, sink-scrubbing, and such, less onerous because they allow "think time." You see, no one bothers you when you're washing dishes or mopping floors, and that makes Mondays perfect. As I clean my house I plan my week, letting ideas jump all over my brain. When I'm ready to sit down at the computer, they've usually filtered through to usable form, and all I have to do is write them down.