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Surviving Monday Morning – The PFPT Way

One of several versions of the painting "...

Well played Monday, well played.

“Monday, Monday, so good to me”. Well, The Mamas & The Papas may have enjoyed the whip crack of the start to the working week that is Monday, named after Mon, the ancient Londinium god of Moaning, but I for one, do not. Monday morning, the destroyer of the weekend, slayer of the lie-in, the anal wart of the working week, is about as welcome as, well, an anal wart. After years of suffering the morning of a Monday, I have tried and tested some of the best ways to cope with the brutal weekly opener, and being the caring, sharing soul I am, I bestow it upon you here.

The Awakening
Morning has broken, well, it was either that or wind. You can revel in the fact that the sound of your alarm clock ripping mercilessly through your being, is the exact moment when your maths skills are at their most finely tuned, especially on a Monday, as you negotiate with yourself and the entire concept of time, with astounding pinpoint accuracy, exactly how many times you can hit snooze before having to skip your morning shower. You could use this moment to work out your taxes for the year, you could use this moment to solve all the unsolvable mathematical equations and bring an end to global economic crises. You could… but you’re going to do the sensible thing and go back to sleep for 7 minutes, repeatedly.
07:30 am arrives and you hit the gym Shh, still snoozing.

At 08:12 you realise you’ve hit snooze so many times, you’re in danger of turning into Chris Brown and any more of that behaviour will result in Monday hitting back. If you’ve prepped properly, the litre of liquid you drank before bed will cause the watery pain of a sloshing bladder, which, accompanied with the thought of having to peel wet sheets off the bed (again), will enable you to drag your carcass from the toasty, cosy cocoon that has seduced you all weekend. Whatever you do now, don’t look in the mirror. There’s nothing worse that realising at this point in your life that without proper facial scaffolding, intense caffeination and several coats of varnish, that you resemble Edvard Munch‘s ‘The Scream’ tattooed onto an elephant’s scrotum.

The Readying
Monday morning leaves a nasty taste in the mouth and not just metaphorically, so hasten to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you breath on anything and melt the veneer off the furniture with the caustic vapours of a weekend well spent. This act of oral de-grotting is best done before you spend too long pondering on just how a badger managed to get into your room and use your mouth as a Portaloo in the night; it will just give you nightmares to realise that the clown who lives under your bed lets it in.

Some people recommend ending your delightfully reviving hot Monday morning shower with a blast of “stimulating” cold water to jolt you into being awake. I suggest that these people have a biro “stimulated” hard into their neck, but you know, horses for courses and all that.

Once suitably cleansed and having scoured a weekend’s worth of club entry stamps and hot stranger’s phone numbers off your limbs, pick out an outfit fit for corporate soul-destruction (Monday mornings are when you need clothing with extra pockets for essentials like tissues and hip flasks) and pack your bag. Be sure to check you have a fully charged cattle prod and that your biros are all nicely sharpened. If you can, try and remember to put on the outfit you picked out.

The Breakfasting
You have a whole week ahead of you, a whole week filled with endless possibility – the endless possibility that your colleagues will annoy you to the point that you need to teach them a lesson in the passive-aggressive manner whereby a turd is deposited in their desk drawer. It’s a simple office jape but these things don’t produce themselves, and you never know how many of your colleagues will have been saving up their cretinous behaviour all weekend. Bran Flakes. Double portion.

In case you’re wondering what to have with your Bran Flakes, I find that a good Beaujolais makes the perfect breakfast wine. If you need something a little sweeter and easier to stomach on a Monday, or if you think wine with breakfast is too coarse, Malibu makes a great all round breakfast beverage and should help take the harsh sting out of Monday’s bleary eyed barb.

If you haven’t got an intravenous drip set up for 24 hour administration, get caffeinated now. The unbearable thing that is “other people” will soon be upon you and your breakfast Beaujolais can only do so much when it comes to making hyperactive school brats, and the very worst kind of monster, the Morning Person, even vaguely tolerable.

The Commuting
Kick start your metabolism on Monday morning by going for a gentle run. This can easily be achieved with the aid of repetitive snoozing, squandering time on Twitter and falling asleep in a hot shower, which leaves you trying to finish putting your undercrackers on while running for a bus, applying your lipstick and smoking 5 cigarettes, all while juggling a Blackberry, an iPhone, a laptop, a grande half-fat mochachakakhan and a small child. Remember to give the small child back to its owner when you’re done, as they tend to get quite snippy if you just leave them lying about.

While on your preferred method of public transport, in between assaulting any member of the great unwashed who dares disturb your zen-like Monday morning meditations coma with their camel-gusset breath, their leaking nose and their even leakier headphones, use the time wisely and prepare some blow-softening Monday morning affirmations to e-mail yourself, so that upon arriving at the office, you have some heart warming words of encouragement to stave off the Monday morning suicide attempt (at least until after lunch). What could be more uplifting than being greeted by these gems on your desktop: “You’re a success! Well, you’re alright I s’pose. You’re not a total flop… You’ll do.” or how about “You can do it! Well, you can try. Ok, you can think about it. Maybe next week. Meh.”

The Arriving at Workinging
It’s too late now, Monday morning has you well and truly in her grip, the vicious harpy. The only thing you can do at this point is to clutch your cattle prod near, aim for the caffeinated goods and avoid all human interaction. Easier said than done when the evil overlords have planted the caffeine stocks right behind the Monday Morning Pleasantries Exchange. If you want your eyelids to stay open, you’re going to have to brave several Morning People enquiring about your weekend and, without a single word of encouragement, regaling you by return with the minutiae of their own two-day mundanity.

This exchange only serves as a stark reminder that your weekend is as dead and cold as a king in a car park and you have nothing but five long arduous days with someone who apparently spent their Saturday night alphabetising their sock drawer. Right about now is when you realise the joy of double-Bran Flakes.

Finally, the best way to deal with Monday morning, that filthy, eggy fart in the broken lift that is the working week, is to insult her in her face, hard. Ignore her, pretend she isn’t there and show her just how easy she is to get over and that she’s not special – by carrying out the same excruciating routine for the next five days.

Coming soon: How to defend yourself in court for defecating in a work colleague’s desk drawer.

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