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Sonday, Munday, Two Day

I've never been one to bemoan Mondays.  Sure, I've occasionally regretted that the weekend was ending.  I get annoyed, though, by people who act like Monday is the end of the world instead of just the start of another week.  These annoyers are probably the ones buying up all of the infernal posters showing a kitten clinging to a branch with the caption "Hold on.  Friday's coming."

If I were a superhero (which I'm not) and I had a kryptonic weakness (which I don't), it would be cat posters with cutesy sayings.  I'm not talking about the kind of weakness that makes you give into temptation like having a weakness for chocolate or babies.  I mean the kind of weakness that makes you lose your temper or become irrationally irate.  Of course, can a hatred of cat posters really be called irrational?  I puts it to you, guv'nor.

Back to Mondays.  More specifically, Mondays in London.  The problem with Mondays here is that they never seem to fully start or fully end.

I usually leave for London on a Sunday afternoon.  There's a flight departing Seattle for Vancouver at 5:30.  I layover there for about an hour which is just enough time to download all of the email I'll answer or delete during the remaining flight.  The flight from Vancouver to London is about nine hours and arrives at one or 1:30 in the afternoon on Monday.  It makes for a strange time warp.  My body feels like it's five in the morning.  I want desperately to sleep, but the afternoon is just starting.  

I know from experience that I need to try and stay awake until a normal local bed time.  If I give in to the urge to sleep, I'll spend the rest of the week in a perpetual circadian stupor: tired all day and awake all night.  So, after I clear customs I make a bee line for the Air Canada arrivals lounge where I can have a shower, change into some fresh clothes and enjoy a bacon butty.  It's my attempt at convincing my body that I'm starting a new day.

I can maintain the illusion for all of about two hours.  That's how long it takes me to check my email, make a few phone calls, ride the train to Paddington and catch a taxi to the Marriott in Maida Vale.  By that point, though, even a lousy British hotel mattress looks inviting after being awake for 24 hours.

I fight the urge to sleep by walking a half mile or so to a pub called The Elgin.  Free wi-fi and Diet Coke on tap.  I usually meet Andrew, one of my coworkers who lives in London, and we spend a few hours making final plans for the week ahead.  By the time we are done, it's Monday morning in Seattle and my gauntlet of meetings is just beginning. So, it's back to the hotel for one conference call after another until nine or ten at night.

About that time my stomach starts growling for dinner even though my head tells me I've already had dinner two or three times since I started my day.  That's when it dawns on me that the day started out Sunday and is now ending Monday.

I put a call into Luna Rosa, the Italian restaurant across the street, for a pizza parmiggiana (tomato, mozzarella, aubergines, parmesan and basil) that I carry back to my hotel room.  I can't eat alone in a restaurant.  I feel too pathetic.  Instead, I eat my pizza while watching Sky Sports and BBC News.  It helps get me caught up on all the latest happenings so I'll be fully prepared for small talk.

With dinner #3 out of the way, I usually call Thelma.  I'm sure she appreciates the call, but I'm not sure how rewarding it is.  By that point in the day I'm a bundle of yawns and half sentences.  Eventually, I find the strength to turn off the lights and go to bed.  Unfortunately, that's also the point where the lousy British hotel mattress decides I'd be better off tossing and turning all night.

Eventually, I see the sun coming up through the window.  The Sunday/Monday hybrid has come to a merciful end.  Sure, I'll be throwing back bottles of Coke Zero all day, but at least I'm back to some semblance of normality.
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Thelma said…
Now what am I going to do with the kitten poster I already bought you for Christmas? It has a cute kitten (if there is such a thing) clinging to a branch, about to fall (is PETA aware of these photo shoots?) and the caption says Never Give Up. I thought it was so perfect for you! NOW what will I give you? I guess I'll have to resort to a Milky Way. It is your favorite candy bar after all.
October 14, 2008 at 8:12 AM
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