It’s Monday again, and this weekend seemed especially short. Since I had to work on Saturday, my weekend really only consisted of yesterday. One day just isn’t enough time to fully settle into weekend mode before the alarm is reminding you that it’s time to start another workweek.
I wish I could say I had something interesting or profound to write about this morning, but I really don’t. Mostly, I’m sitting here wishing I could crawl back into bed instead of getting up, taking a shower, getting dressed, and heading off to work. Some Monday mornings are easier than others, and this definitely isn’t one of them.
Yesterday went by far too quickly, and I could certainly use another day to relax and recharge. Unfortunately, Monday doesn’t particularly care whether we’re ready for it or not. The new week is here, and I suppose the only thing to do is get moving and hope that once I’m showered, dressed, and at work, I’ll feel a little more enthusiastic about it.
For now, though, that bed is looking awfully inviting.
I hope everyone has a great week!
If he was in my bed, there’d be no question. I’d be back in bed.
It’s Friday, but unfortunately, it’s not quite the end of my work week. I have to work at the museum tomorrow. Thankfully, we’re no longer regularly open on Saturdays, so I usually only have to work one or two Saturdays a year for special events. Tomorrow just happens to be one of them.
There really isn’t much more to say today. I had a migraine last night and ended up going to bed early. I’m still feeling some mild effects from it this morning, but thankfully, I’m feeling far better than I was last night. Hopefully, those lingering effects will fade as the day goes on.
I did have a really lovely dream last night, though. I woke up in the middle of it and really wished it had continued when I fell back asleep. Maybe it did, but if so, I don’t remember it. I do remember enough to know that it was a very nice dream—and that the man in it was pretty wonderful. Too bad he wasn’t real.
So, this is going to be a short post because I really can’t think of anything else to write. Sometimes, there just isn’t much to say—and that’s okay.
I’ve felt a bit topsy-turvy this week. I was off on Tuesday because I’m working on Saturday, so that threw things off right from the start. Yesterday, I went in late because I had an event that kept me at work later than usual. Today should be a relatively normal day, except for a few meetings. Thankfully, there’s nothing on my schedule for tomorrow, and Saturday should be an easy day.
I’ll be at the museum by myself on Saturday, so I should be able to get a lot of work done without too many interruptions. We aren’t normally open on Saturdays anymore. We used to be open every Saturday when students were on campus, but with a smaller staff now, we generally only open on Saturdays for special events.
Needless to say, my internal calendar has been completely off this week. All day yesterday, I had trouble remembering that it was Wednesday. It felt like Tuesday, and whenever I thought about things I needed to do on Thursday, it never quite registered that Thursday was the next day. Now it’s Thursday, and today doesn’t feel like Thursday either.
Do you ever have one of those weeks when everything just feels completely off? You know what day it is, but somehow it never quite feels like that day.
At least tomorrow is Friday—or so the calendar tells me. Maybe by next week, my brain and the calendar will be back on speaking terms.
Last night, I thought of something to write about today. At the time, I thought, That would make a good blog post. This morning, however, I have absolutely no idea what it was.
I should have written it down.
Back when I was working on my dissertation, I kept a pad of paper and a pen next to my bed. It always took me forever to fall asleep, and while I was lying there waiting for sleep to come, my mind would wander through all sorts of things. Quite often, those thoughts turned to my dissertation. I learned pretty quickly that if inspiration struck and I didn’t write it down, there was a very good chance it would be gone by morning.
You’d think I would have learned my lesson.
Over the years, I’ve discovered that writing things down is about the only reliable way to make sure I remember them. If there’s something I need to do but can’t do at that moment, I write it down. If there’s something I need to tell someone the next time I talk to them, I should write it down. If I have questions for my doctor and an appointment coming up, I make a list because otherwise I’ll inevitably walk out of the appointment and suddenly remember the question I meant to ask.
I learned a long time ago that when inspiration strikes, write it down. Apparently, I just occasionally forget to follow my own advice.
Whatever brilliant—or perhaps completely mundane—idea I had last night is gone this morning. Maybe it will come back to me later today. Maybe it won’t.
It’s Monday again, and I feel like I’m not firing on all cylinders this morning. I have absolutely no inspiration and, quite frankly, I’d just like to go back to sleep. If I didn’t have a class and a meeting today, I’d seriously consider calling in sick and crawling back into bed.
Maybe I’ll feel more human after I take a shower, get dressed, and have some coffee. Sometimes just going through the morning routine is enough to wake up the body and convince the brain to follow along. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for today.
For now, though, Monday has definitely arrived before I was ready for it. Here’s hoping the day improves once I get moving. Have a great Monday, everyone!
I’m so glad it’s Friday. This has been a very busy week at work, and I need some time away from the office. I’m not sure what, if anything, I’ll do this weekend besides get some much-needed rest. The only two things I know for sure are that I’ll watch some college football tomorrow and try out a few new recipes over the weekend.
Today was one of those rare mornings when I actually wanted to get out of bed. Well, not the first time I woke up, when Isabella decided she needed to be fed, but the second time. I had been having a wonderful dream.
The dream unfolded as a series of brief scenes showing the progression of a new relationship. He was handsome and about my age, and it began with a hookup arranged through one of the apps. Later, we saw each other online again and decided to meet up a second time. Eventually, we exchanged numbers and became regular fuck buddies. There was no longer any need to search the apps; all it took was a horny text.
Each time we got together, though, we talked a little more and began genuinely getting to know one another. One evening, I was cooking when he texted. After we finished with the usual reason for his visit, I invited him to stay for dinner. Then he invited me to his place for dinner. That led to a few “Netflix and chill” evenings that involved more Netflix—and more conversation—than our earlier encounters had.
Eventually, I had an event to attend and was allowed to bring a plus-one, so I asked whether he wanted to come with me. After that, we began seeing each other outside our apartments. We went on actual dates. We even took a trip together.
The dream was made up of all these small moments in the building of a relationship. It was almost as though I were watching everything from above. Each scene lasted only briefly, yet somehow I understood the larger story connecting them.
After watching us go on a few dates, I woke up before the dream could progress any further. Sadly, it was only a dream.
Of course, there are couples who met on Grindr and eventually built lasting relationships. Still, if you’ve ever used Grindr, you know that it tends to be more of a “come and go” situation—although “come” might be spelled a little differently. That was fine when I was younger, but these days, it would be nice to find something more: someone to talk to, cook with, travel with, and share all those little moments that gradually turn a hookup into a relationship.
Earworms are strange things. Sometimes, something you hear sets one off. Other times, you wake up with a song already playing in your head, and it simply refuses to go away. Sometimes, though, it takes me a little while to recognize the song.
That happened this morning. Almost as soon as Isabella woke me, the words “Wake me up when…” began running through my mind. At first, I couldn’t remember what came next. When exactly did the singer want to be awakened?
Then it finally hit me: “Wake me up when September ends.”
I paused and wondered, Are those really the lyrics? A quick Google search confirmed that they are not only the lyrics but also the title of Green Day’s 2005 song “Wake Me Up When September Ends.” The song begins:
Summer has come and passed The innocent can never last Wake me up when September ends
The song itself is quite sad, but its appearance in my head this morning struck me as funny. I think my earworm was simply trying to tell me that I wasn’t ready to get out of bed. Unfortunately, Isabella is not a patient critter, and she had no intention of letting me sleep until the end of September.
So, I got up and fed her. She woke me long before September ended—we aren’t even halfway through the month.
Note: An earworm is a song or tune that becomes stuck in your head and repeats itself involuntarily.
Today is one of those days when I wish I could stay in bed all day. I went to bed early last night because I had a migraine that was steadily getting worse. I still have a dull headache this morning, along with the foggy-headed feeling neurologists call the postdrome phase—sometimes referred to as a “migraine hangover.”
If Isabella hadn’t demanded breakfast and nature hadn’t called, I would probably still be in bed instead of writing this. Unless the headache and fogginess get worse, though, I’ll go to work today. It usually improves once I’ve been awake and moving for a while. I still have plenty to do at work, so staying busy should help push the headache to the back of my mind—and hopefully make the day pass a little faster.
Giorgio Ramondetta views Jan van de Cappelle’s Shipping in a Calm at Flushing with a States General Yacht Firing a Salute (1649) at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles.
It’s Wednesday, and the week is almost half over. I’ve spent only one day in the office so far, but it was a very busy one. Today will likely be no different. In fact, I doubt there will be a single day this week when I find myself wondering what to do. Emails, meetings, training sessions, and preparations for upcoming classes are more than enough to fill my days.
Don’t think I’m complaining. I love being busy with these kinds of tasks. They make the day pass much faster. I often become so absorbed in what I’m doing that when I finally look at the clock, I’m surprised by how much time has passed. If my days were filled with activities I dreaded, it would be altogether different. Instead, much of what I’m doing this week—and, I hope, throughout the semester—is the part of my job I enjoy most.
Things are not perfect at work, but I genuinely love the work I do.
Part of my job involves welcoming our guests. Sometimes it is a special dignitary visiting campus who wants a tour of the museum. Other times it is a scholar who has come to speak as part of our lecture series, and I have the opportunity to entertain them, show them some of Vermont, and take them out to dinner. It is a role for which I am particularly well suited. Being from the South and growing up in an environment where good manners and hospitality were expected prepared me well for this aspect of my job. I have a reputation within the university for being able to welcome and entertain dignitaries, while our museum has earned a wider reputation among some prestigious cultural institutions for the hospitality we provide our guests. I take a great deal of pride in that.
Then there is the academic side of my job. I get to teach history through artifacts. In some classes, I teach students how to analyze and interpret objects. Sometimes, I tell the history of particular artifacts, while other sessions involve tours of the museum or its collections. Each class is different, and each gives me another opportunity to help students understand that objects are more than simply things displayed behind glass. They can reveal stories about the people who made, owned, used, exchanged, or preserved them.
I enjoy working with our students because, for the most part, they are well behaved, polite, and willing to engage. Best of all, I get to teach and prepare lessons without having to grade papers and exams, which was always the bane of my existence when I taught in a more traditional setting. I receive the parts of teaching that I love without being burdened by the part I dreaded most.
Of course, there are difficult personalities to contend with from time to time. I’m not paid enough, and there are certainly mornings when I would rather remain at home with Isabella. No job—and no workplace—is perfect. Still, when I consider the work itself, I know how fortunate I am.
After all, how many people can genuinely say, “I love the work I do”?
Joe
