While managing the much maligned malingering of a mournful Monday morning, my head moved to the rhythm of the subway as it sped through tunnels, over bridges and deposited me and millions of others to the work place.
Mondays at the work place. The livelihood. The bread and butter of how to pay the rent, mortgage, food and utilities, the kid’s ballet and music lessons, the rising prices of movies, popcorn and hot pretzels. The latter with mustard, if you please.
Mondays made more magnificent with music.
Mondays are the days to get the over-load from Friday off your desk, the day to contemplate what the hell you are doing at this desk when you’d rather be home doing something else.
Lots of Monday mourners would rather be home writing. They daydream about the tales of mystery, suspense and romance, of historical dalliances, meaningful menage a trois done with pinnace and passion.
During the malingering stage of my meaningful jaunt into the work place, I was a much maligned mischief-maker of monumental proportions. I have been known to rise to the occasion by leaving early or hibernating during snow days. I might have avoided the meaningful part of my much-needed and badly managed employment at the work place.
Alas, dear ones, there is no longer the need for this manic menace to seek out or accept meaningful employment.
I am retired and no longer bounce, weave or squeeze into the subway, have no need to take a cross-town or cross-country bus to any specific location and would never, unless diagnosed as insane, drive onto city streets with nowhere to park.
Just the same, I do wish you the very best of the most manageable, manipulative and misunderstood day of the week … the mournful Mondays of your life.
Enjoy yourself today
Until hump day, with
The picture of 59th Street musicians can be seen here.
_________________________ Note: Second installments of "Radio" and "Memories" are posted on my pages.