Manic Mondays

Someone should ban Mondays. And by that, I mean that someone should ban Mondays. If you know what I mean.

Of course I don't mean ban the day itself, just the concept of coming back to work after a wonderful lazy weekend. And if you're thinking, "does that mean that we ban weekends?", I have to say, "you cretin - of course NOT."

It's the working week that needs to be erased from the surface of the planet, not the non-working weekend. It's a well known fact that stress kills, and Monday morning stress is the worst possible kind of stress (other kinds include Tuesday morning stress, Wednesday morning stress, Thursday morning stress, Friday morning stress, Sunday afternoon stress, Sunday evening stress, SUNDAY NIGHT MEGASTRESS).

In the words of Martin Luther King, I want a holiday. Oops, sorry, that wasn't Mr. King, that was someone else. But at times when Martin wasn't on the world stage talking about freedom, I'm sure that's what he was thinking. Even God wanted a holiday. And if god, el supremo, omniscient, omnipotent jehovah, wanted one day out of seven, surely us mortals need more than that - like, about six out of seven (no, not seven out of seven - no point in being greedy).

I misquote the Bible with gay abandon - see the lilies of the field - they something not, nor do they something. You get the picture. And, to almost paraphrase the Gita, you must do what you must do, and (BAD WORD THAT RHYMES WITH BREW) the consequences. Well, I must do what I must do, and I must take a sabbatical. I must go hunting around the Andes for old Inca remains, and I must trek to Machu Pichu. I must travel around Greece and Italy, and safari in the savannah. I must NOT, on the other hand, sit in a stupid office and make stupid plans like a stupid ass - my doctor strictly forbids it on account of it being an anti-stress-buster and severely injurious to my health. (The surgeon-general is expected to shortly issue a warning about work causing cancer, which all offices will mandatorily have to display on a LARGE sign board just above their entrance so that people may make informed choices about whether to fool around with their lives hanging in the balance.)

So, before my lungs collapse from all this atmosphere, and my brain goes into automatic pilot planner mode, it's time to make a quick run for it. And, to those of you who have made the other choice, you might be contagious, so I'm afraid we'll have to communicate only over the phone, henceforth.

That is, if the network follows me to Machu Pichu.