Mondays, blah. Who needs ’em? My dearly departed mother used to say, she hated Mondays. I didn’t get it until recently. For some reason I do, too. I find myself feeling the dislike building on Sunday night. On Monday morning, upon rising, I am besotted with Monday blahs. Maybe it’s because I know there is a never-ending pile of work to be done at the evil day job. Anticipating work is never a happy thought. It could be because (like every worker bee in the world) being chained to a job doing something that makes money for another entity (and

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