Can't Trust That Day

Lawsa mercy, it's Monday. How did that happen?

After all these years, I still think of Sunday night as the Mother Of All School Nights. When I tuck myself in on Sunday nights, I always have that feeling of vague dread that I had when the Ed Sullivan show was over and it was time to trudge down the hall.

It probably doesn't help that, due to the time I get up, my bed-time is exactly the same as it was in 4th grade: 9:00 PM. I can stay up for The Simpsons, and Arrested Development, and then the weekend is over. A period of sleep, then grumpy grown-up Monday responsibilities come rushing back like the hot kiss at the end of a wet fist (thanks, Firesign.)

And tonight I must attend a meeting of an art festival board of directors of which I am a member. I was supposed to have done one particular thing in advance of this meeting, and had months to do it. I didn't. It's not particularly crucial, and I did many other art festival tasks (I am the entertainment director -- in charge of booking the talent -- and I've done all that) but this one thing, I did not do. And there's no good reason. I just didn't, and it's too late. So there will be the inevitable uncomfortable moment this evening when I have to admit that.

But we've all done (or not done) things like that, right? Right?