And we find ourselves, as per the usual, back again at Monday.
Today wasn’t quite as intense as last Monday. Work still felt like I was wading through quicksand — really difficult and really slow. But I didn’t shake all day. I got things done, slowly and quietly crossing things off the list.
As I was driving home, listening to my most favorite app, audible.com, I began to think about who I am as a person. Don’t worry. It didn’t come out of left field — it started with my upcoming business trip. A quick trip to LA to eat some good food and help to bring shape to our newest restaurant concept.
We’re staying at a very nice hotel. Apparently, it has quite the pool scene (I imagine the MTV beach house — but that’s probably my imagination and my age). No spa though. According to the website, it’s 2 miles from a lot of things. I’m sort of at a loss as to what I’m going to do with all my free time.
This is where the afore-mentioned thought process began.
I’m a girl — woman, whatever — who listens to books about King Arthur on audible. I’m not listening to the ‘cool’ books, or the ‘trendy’ books. I’m listening to historical fiction or gentle portraits of a human’s life. There’s nothing edgy about me, I watch Newsroom on repeat, am currently binge-watching Madam Secretary [and wondering why I don’t do work every day that has a bigger impact on the American experience], and I love LoTR, Star Wars, Batman and Rocky. I go to bed before 9.30pm most nights. I like to talk about football, current events, history, food and books. I have never done drugs. Like, for real and I went to school for theatre and have been in the restaurant business more than half my life.
And I’m okay with all of that. I like me, I like the things I like — I find comfort in the choices I make and the things I enjoy. I’m not delusional enough to think that any of it makes me cool, or trendy, or cutting edge (which would help out in the business that I’m in).
But sometimes, I feel like a square peg in a round hole. As though I’m in a world and profession in which I don’t belong. My husband listens to my rambles and attributes it to my occasional, intense struggles with SAD. I’m not sure what it is — maybe just having a moment of detachment, Who can say for sure?
Maybe I’m just having a case of the Mondays. And that’s okay, right?