Monday, Monday

This is going to be a rant.

I'm wiped out this morning. More wiped out than used toilet paper. So wiped out that when I fell asleep on the bus to work, sitting in an aisle seat, I awoke and didn't know where I was.

(I think we need The Mamas & The Papas on the scene, stat.)

It was a busier Saturday than normal....physically and mentally demanding. Starting with a 13-mile training run up Heartbreak Hill first thing in the morning. Followed by a musical revue rehearsal at 12 that went until 7, followed by a 3-hour show that started at 8....with me pounding the piano for all of those 11 hours. Immediately followed by 3 glasses of merlot, meant to celebrate the success of the show, as well as dull the throbbing in my fingers. Bed at 2 a.m.

(Why is it true that after a hard workout, you feel acceptable the next day, then like shit on day 2? Wow. The truck ran over my arms and legs and my head this morning, picked me up and put me on the #9 bus and said, you've got a busy day at work in front of you. Go. )

Truthfully, the mood is exacerbated because, in my recovery yesterday, I was lazy. I didn't start laundry or send out my marathon fundraising letter, despite carving out time to do so and not wanting to wake up Monday morning already behind the 8-ball for the week.

Then. With all that procrastinating and no achievement, it took me until after 10 p.m. to get to the grocery store, and after midnight to get up enough momentum to empty the dishwasher and clean out the cat litter. (Now that's a task I'm just Done with.)

All the time listening to BBC radio and hearing how there is a world food shortage and that Microsoft is cutting jobs and that Pfizer is buying Wyeth and slashing its dividend and the Republicans are going to fight Obama's stimulus package (naturally)....and thinking about how I love working in finance on days when that's the lead-in news.

OK. It's 10:30. Enough ranting. It would not do to end Monday behind the 8-ball after starting that way.

In the 6 days since the Inauguration I have not yet tired of hearing Perlman, Ma, Montero and McGill rip through this version of "Simple Gifts." It's the arrangement, it's their vigor and hair blowing in the breeze, it's the reminder of what that song celebrates and what I forget about in my selfish moments:

"....'tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free..."

(And the gift to have the energy and drive necessary to exhaust oneself, evidently. )

Think I'll put it on repeat. May I suggest if you're having a Monday, too, you do the same.