On Mondays

My Bubby Cyrille was superstitious, and because most bubbies command a certain level of respect that comes naturally at that stage of life, we never questioned her. This blind belief in all-things-bubby extended to a blanketed mistrust of Mondays.

I’ve never trusted a Monday. In the same way that Richard Lewis claimed to be the mind behind “…from hell” on Curb Your Enthusiasm, I feel like my grandmother was the silent mind behind “Sunday Scaries.” 

The Sunday Scaries have bred things like cases of “The Mondays” and “Manic Mondays” so it’s possible she was on to something. She made Mondays feel like an enigma; it was like the unknown of the school or workweek ahead was waiting for Monday to unravel and wreak havoc.

I’ve never made major decisions on a Monday. I sighed with relief when my kids were born on a Thursday and Tuesday, respectively, and secretly put off signing on anything binding until Tuesday at work.

As I write this, my son is home instead of in camp, and I fully blame Monday mania instead of his thirst for some “mommy and me” time.

I’ve spent so many of my adult years unlearning beliefs and behaviors that are unproductive, but being wary of Mondays just isn’t something I’m willing to relinquish and eschew as a “bubby myth.” To me, it’s more of “bubby legend.” She said it, she lived it, and so it shall always be that Mondays are forever to be met with malaise.