It's Monday. Phew.

I may be the only freak on the planet that actually likes Mondays. Weekends are like mini-holidays. I enjoy 'em at the time but the free-for-all needs to come to an end and order needs to be restored at some point. Monday is almost a relief. A deep, cleansing breath. Although my life is pretty crazy, it's nice to at least pretend that I know what to expect. There's some semblance of order to it. Take Jack to school, walk, Pilates, grocery store, clean house, write. Catching (very speedy!) dog who snatched Chanel sunglasses and started running around the house with 'em was not on the list but can now be crossed off nevertheless. The weekends are all about, "What do you want to do today?" A person like me is much better off when not left with many options. I do a much better job walking the straight and narrow when I don't have to make many choices. In spite outward appearances, I am not a fly-by the seat of my pants kinda gal. I like schedules and routines. The weekdays pretty much tell me what to do. And I like it. Shit. Maybe I'm a masochist. A Monday through Thursday submissive. Calling psychiatrist. NOW. Deep end? I see you but I'm not jumping.