Every Monday morning is peculiar. It’s just another day. I think we all know that, but at the same time…it’s Monday. The dogs bark a little more, there’s more tension, tiredness. The week lies ahead and Saturday is a dim light at the end of the five-day tunnel. It’s an old story but one that is repeated endlessly.

And why? Why Monday?

We work, often, from Monday to Friday but why is that a reason to dread. Work ought to be good. In the best of worlds it is something that we are happy about, something that gives our lives meaning. Of course, there are so many people that must work, they must do anything in order to make a living. This is most of the world. But chances are if this is being read, those people aren’t you.

Recently I went by the cemetery where my family is buried and I cleaned the gravestones off, removed the grass and washed the granite a bit to make the names legible. My wife went with me. As I looked down at my father’s grave I commented.

“This is everyone at one point.” I said.

And this is everyone some one point. A marker that is often forgotten, a grave in a forgotten cemetery. And so why Monday? Because we forget that there are just so many Mondays. Be happy that we are able to have the Monday blues.