Rainy Days and Mondays

Sunday was the former, Monday was (obviously) the latter. The former being when the photo was taken, the latter being when the post was written. And yes, I am blathering about the title of this post. Wherein I am once again confounded by the workings of my brain. That is, I like to type as if you were reading this over my shoulder and not the next day (that is the date of actual publication) or at some point in the yet to be determined future. So please, bear with me.

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Well, I was. But on second thought...

By now I can think of at least one person (SCOTTtheBADGER) who wants to jump in and point out that today's post title is from a song by the carpenters local 238.

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Okay, I knew it was The Carpenter's, not some random female carpenters from an old photo. (Sorry ladies...)

Anyhoo.

Rainy days don't really get me down, much. But Sunday it did rain. All. Day. Long. And that was a bit, not depressing, but not exactly cheery either. We didn't have any outdoor plans for the day, in fact we hadn't planned on going anywhere Sunday. We even made the conscious (not conscientious) decision to sleep in Sunday morning. As in "not go to church" on Sunday. Yes, I felt a bit guilty about that.

But when I awakened at 0800 to the sounds of the monsoon, I was pleased with the "not gonna get up" decision. Though when I finally rolled out of bed at 1000 local, (yes, you read that right) I was even more pleased with the "not gonna get up" call that The Missus Herself and I had agreed too. (Before you fault her for our possible descent to someplace hot, with wretched clothing, in the afterlife, I made the suggestion, she simply agreed to it. We were both deuced tired, I can tell you. Long week, etc., etc.)

Now before...

Okay, I know there's going to be some criticism and such from you thrice-damned "morning people" but...

No, I don't really mean that, you're not "thrice-damned," but dear me, oh my, I do get tired of the sanctimonious "well, I get up at oh-dark-effing-thirty every effing day and..." types. My late, lamented maternal grandmother used to make a "big deal" over getting up early. Then one day I overheard the following exchange between great-granddaughter (The Nuke) and great-grandmother (the aforementioned maternal grandmother). Oh yes, the backstory is that the female progeny were spending the night at "great grammie's" (or "Old Gram" as the Olde Vermonter's progeny tagged her).

Me: [Arriving at my grandmother's for to pick up the female progeny. I have no lines, I simply arrive, stage right....]

Gram: Are you girls still in bed? I've been up since six this morning! [I should note that the time then was 0800, local.]

The Nuke: "Gram, you went to bed at seven o'clock last night. Right after Lawrence Welk. Therefore, if you arose at 0600, you logged a solid eleven hours of sleep. The WSO and I went to bed at one o'clock this morning. So we've only been in bed roughly half as long as you..."

It was at that point that I jumped in and gave my grandmother a hug, hoping that The Nuke would not pursue that line of inquiry. Which she did not as she hied off to the loo for to accomplish her morning ablutions, necessaries, and no doubt wake up some more. I did manage to distract my grandmother from that subject but not before the matriarch of our clan mentioned that my eldest daughter was perhaps a bit spicy towards her elders. Which I agreed to with the standard parental comment regarding teenagers and "what can you do?"

So please forgive me for my insouciant attitude towards the early risers among us but don't chastise me until you've stayed up half the night because "dammit, I worked night shift so many years that I'm practically a nocturnal creature these days..."

Yup, that's me, a child of the night. Well, minus the howling, though I did bay at the moon when I was younger but...

Anyhoo.

So Sunday I played the lay-about, didn't do much of anything. I did watch the movie The Guardian with Kevin Costner and Ashton Kutcher, I thought it was superb. As always, YMMV.

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So that was Sunday.

Monday was...

Well it was Monday, wasn't it? As I'm not a Federale, and I don't have no stinking badges, (nor am I an entitled employee of the State) I was at work at Monday. It wasn't until I was half way there that I noticed that the highways and byways of Little Rhody were suspiciously devoid of automotive conveyances and exhibited a complete absence of school buses. Which explained my being able to make record time on the trip to my place of gainful employment. Where...

I got to spend Monday.

Sigh.

It's always sumthin'.

Innit?