Dreary Monday

This is in no way an earth-shattering observation, but Mondays suck, and rainy Mondays suck Phil's ass.

I love my weekends, because most of them are lived the way I would live if I were retired: get up when I feel like it, eat a leisurely breakfast, and keep my jammies on while I watch an unhealthy amount of TV, leaving the house only for an occasional errand. I'm always a little depressed on Monday, because I have to leave my comfortable little nest after two days of frivolity and crank up the grindstone for another 5 days of drudgery. What really makes this particular Monday dreadful is the rain. When the sun hides behind a thick, wet blanket of gloom, it drains me of the will to do anything productive. Right now I want nothing more than to be at home in the living room with my wife and a movie. I did precisely this yesterday afternoon, and it was wonderful. We went out on a few errands in the gray drizzle, and as soon as we got home, I put on my PJs, made some hot tea, and started up Forgetting Sarah Marshall on FX while the rain fell softly outside. How I long to have the means to spend every rainy day in such a manner, only in my stately home in the country.

This past Saturday evening we went to a little get-together at our friend's home outside of town. She resides in her parents' house in a neighborhood that was all farmland not long ago. Instead of going straight to her house, we meandered around the neighborhood a bit. Lots were big, houses were big, and it was all very quiet and bucolic, stirring up the desire to build a large country house not too far removed from the city, which I wouldn't have any need or desire to leave for days at a time, having everything I need and want on the property. We would probably go to town once a week for a fine dinner or to the theater, but groceries would be delivered. I would even have tailors come to the house, rather than go out to a shop.

O! To live the life of the country gentleman! I would have my friends come out for long weekends of leisure and good times, where they would stay in comfortable rooms and arise to a breakfast buffet. We would spend the days loafing about, playing croquet, knocking golf balls around, swimming, and making idle conversation. And on damp days, I would take a stroll through the fields in my Barbour jacket and wellies, returning to find my afternoon tea on the veranda, where I would sit and watch the rain from my dry, comfortable chair.