Monday mornings feel painfully quiet.
There are about thirty minutes where the house is empty except for me and the cat. I’m showered and dressed for work, sipping a cup of coffee, gearing up for the transition to work mode. The detritus of the weekend is still scattered about the house, empty boxes and cans crowding the kitchen counter, a spare chair on the patio, a blanket bunched up on the couch. And the quiet is so heavy, the air so still, it feels thunderous, deafening. Especially on overcast days like today, where the clouds seem to press down upon the earth, suppressing even the softest decibels.
Monday mornings feel empty. The hustle and bustle of the last two days has seeped out, the weekend a slowly deflating balloon and now, at this moment in time, all the air is gone and it lays shriveled on the floor, spent and exhausted, a flaccid reminder of the grandeur that was. If Saturday and Sunday are lights and colors and music, Monday is gray and muted, still and silent. My dad has a saying: “once begun, it’s half done.” Meaning, taking that first step is the hardest, but once you’ve done that, you’re halfway to your goal already. So I do that, take that first step, and suddenly I’m back in my cubicle, the overhead fluorescents raining artificial light down on me, willing me to keep moving. There is conversation and noise and slowly but surely the day has brightened, the weekend fading even further until it is no more than a distant speck.
Time is recycled and life is an endless loop. In another seven days the process begins anew.
Pretty words and jumbled thoughts aside, I promise not to spew any pseudo-intellectual rambling next Monday.
My brother has been in town since last weekend, first time in three years. Long enough that when he knocks on the door it seems like a novelty, but not so long that hanging out with him feels awkward. After a family reunion of sorts on Thursday, he came over to hang out with Tara and I Friday evening. We sat on the patio, drank some Lime-A-Ritas, and listened to records. Probably the best part was hearing new spins on old stories. In some ways it’s amazing how much we’re alike, in others, it’s astonishing how different we are. I suppose most siblings are like that. Saturday we had him and my parents over for dinner, where we all contributed to a Hawaiian feast that included kalua pork, chicken long rice, macaroni salad, and the Makaha Sons of Nii’hau on the iPod. Afterwards my parents split, and the three of us headed to Big Al’s to “party” in celebration of Tara’s birthday. I think Scott was slightly hesitant – either because he grew up normally and got this stuff out of his system around the time he was 21, whereas I’ve only recently gotten into it. Damn arrested development – or because Tara and I have a bit of a reputation for excess in these matters. Either way, he was keeping Esther (my sister-in-law, who couldn’t make it up for this trip) in the loop via text as to the shenanigans that were taking place. Like, he let her know when Tara and I ordered Kamikaze shots with chambord, and when we had moved on to the next round. He was a trooper though, and for the most part, kept up with us just fine. We played a couple of games of “galaxy” bowling and killed another hour in the arcade, only leaving as the place was closing down at 1 AM. I think we all had a great time. The highlight? When Tara texted Esther saying she wished she was here, and Esther replied, Somebody has to pay the bills. At that point Scott and I high-fived each other over the fact that we both managed to find “sugar mamas.” Tara asked how that had happened, and Scott launched into an explanation that is much too R-rated for this here blog, but involved the axiom that “size does matter” and, ahem, we’ll just leave it at that. It was all quite hilarious, though maybe that was the gin and tonics talking. Or the Kamikazes. Or the birthday cake shots. Or…
…well, no wonder Scott was complaining that his liver was mad at him the next morning.
Regardless, the weekend was great, and we had a nice visit. I’m glad Tara and Scott got to meet, and everybody got along so well. We look forward to seeing both him and Esther at our wedding in September. Approximately 45 days away. Gulp.
With the knowledge that this year is flying by and the big day is rapidly approaching, I sat down one day last week and knocked out my vows. Yeah, we’re exchanging our own, which has me all sorts of nervous. Not over what to say – that part was easy. It’s just the actual saying of it, in front of other people. It’s quite touching, and I don’t want to
bawl like a baby get choked up. We’ll see how that goes.
- Tell Me Why I Don’t Like Monday’s.. (nakedambitionblog.wordpress.com)