‘Twas the Monday before Christmas, And at The House on the Hill, Monday was the day, We all wanted to kill. The Togas were hung, By the chimney with care, In hopes that this Monday, Would soon not be there…
I’d wish you all a Merry Monday, Modern Philosophers, but “merry” should never be used to describe that horrible day.
Four days until Christmas, and then we’re basically just stuck with the horrors of Winter for the next three months.
So we all have that going for us…
I know I should be filled with the Holiday Spirit by now, but if you read my posts over the weekend (and if you haven’t, now is the time to make up for that horrible error if you want any chance of being on Santa’s Nice List!), you’ll know that I’m still not in a Christmas kind of place yet.
It’s more like Arbor Day in my mind.
I thought that perhaps I’d be visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past last night to stir up the old memory pot and see if any happy Christmas memories bubbled to the surface.
Instead, Freddy Krueger sent me a very strange dream about Julia Roberts. She hired me as her assistant, then left for a movie set and tasked me with shoveling the snow out of her driveway and putting her cars in the garage.
Once I was done with the snow, I returned to the house to find it overrun by lawyers, who insisted on speaking to my boss immediately because they had tickets to the Clippers game that night.
Then a messenger handed me a subpoena for Julia, without even bothering to note he’d served the wrong person.
At this point, I realized that I didn’t have my boss’ phone number, so I went into her home office to search for it. The place was surprisingly messy given that it belonged to Julia Roberts, but before I could really ponder that, a bunch of soccer players barged in demanding to speak to everyone’s favorite steel magnolia.
Turns out, in my dream world, Julia Roberts owned a soccer team. I told you I have the strangest dreams, Modern Philosophers.
Finally, the Oscar winning actress, who clearly makes horrible decisions when hiring personal assistants, returned home to save the day.
I still never got her phone number out of the deal. Oh well.
When I woke up, I called my pretty woman (great segue, Austin!). My Sweet Irish Girlfriend is my secret weapon against Mondays, and she needed to be deployed immediately.
Just hearing that adorable accent as she insisted that cookies are really biscuits and potato chips are really crisps made me smile.
Even on a Monday.
Have some coffee and eggnog. Enjoy the Christmas cookies. Feel free to leave any Christmas presents for me with the interns.
Hang in there, and remember that there are only seventeen hours left of Monday.