Monday, Monday was a song the Mama's and the Papa's sang a century ago. Monday looks like another one of those days. Eyes opened at 2:30 a.m.
Get up.
Whizz Bang.
Back to bed.
Brain starts working overtime.
I can hear the hum of my brain gearing up for the day. Nuts. I know there's no going back to sleep. So I lie there and think for a couple of hours. My idea of hell? That would be part of what hell must be all about. Not sleeping, lying awake and think, think, thinking.
Off to the consulting job this morning. The interviews will be intense today. I will get down to the nitty gritty of the problem. People will feel uncomfortable. I'll be able to see wet spots under their arms because a couple of the people to be interviewed will be sweating it. And they should be sweating it.
So, 5:30 a.m. and I'll think I'll hit the shower, iron my clothes, get dressed, pick out a tie from my 100 plus selection, see if I can get a Macho Man discount at Del Taco ("Macho, Macho Man, I wanna be, your Macho Man!" Senior, Senior Discount Man, I wanna be your Discount Man! -or so it went, right Helen? :) ). When I was working I'd call my secretary Helen first thing most every Friday morning to pick up a Number 7 for me at Del Taco. I'd start the call to Helen by singing Macho Man to her. At exactly 7 a.m. my number 7 would be sitting on my desk.
Why sing Macho Man to Helen? Apart from my being terminally nuts and for those of you who don't know the finer points of Del Taco, Number 7 is the Macho Combination Burrito.
Well, this is not getting my day in gear. Off to the shower. Rub a dub dub.
The picture? Taken the end of November. It's Mt. Shasta. Lots of snow have fallen since then. Shasta is completely covered in it.
Monday, Monday to you!
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