It's a cliche to hate Mondays, and on one level I dislike the shift away from weekends, but in another, I like the freshness of it. Something about Monday gives me extra energy to make the phone call, scrub the floor, pay the bills, etc.
Sam woke me up this morning with that "I really need to go outside RIGHT NOW" expression. I'm glad that he did, because something about the look on his face made me remember winter, which switched on the fuzzy place in my brain, and I remembered the title of the mystery novel I'd forgotten -- In the Bleak Midwinter. Somehow I managed to write this down before Sam nudged me to the door and dashed to his favorite tree.
I should explain that I'm dreadful about remembering book titles. In my mind's eye, I'll see the cover of the book, the font used for the title, sometimes even the author's picture, but never the title. This is a handicap in dealing with students ("Oh! You should read -- er -- the one with the red spine and the curly letters!) and even worse with faculty, as it gives the impression that I'm lost. I usually compensate with lots of examples from the text, to prove that I did read and comprehend the pages.
Then I discovered that the plant I was certain just HAD to be a weed has exploded into some really colorful blossoms that look quite purposeful. I'm glad I never got around to pulling it up.
Post-coffee, I made a trip to the store, where the make-up item I wanted was not only on sale, but came with all sorts of fun freebies.
I'd take this as a good sign for the rest of the day, except that it's Monday, and we all know about Mondays, right?
Words Written: zero, but I'm roughed out a tricky explanation in my head
Lessons Graded: eight