When you’re a kid, “grumpiness” is but a distant myth. Long, angry spiels about traffic jams are boring and, whereas adults treat Garfield as an insightful and wise philosopher, kids see him as just weirdly cute (if not a little cruel to dogs). Okay, so he loves lasagne – sure. He has a “slightly” cynical attitude and sarcastic temperament. He loves sleep pretty much more than anything, which we can definitely all get on board with. But he really hates Mondays.
He really, really hates Mondays.
Kids don’t really have any reason to hate Mondays. Sure, you’ve got to go to school, but school isn’t all that bad. I used to love school – particularly when it came to smushing up paints in the sink at the end of an art class (I was the art class “cleaner”, which meant that at the end of every art lesson I would stay behind to scrub up the brushes – an opportunity I used to practice witchcraft, mixing all of the colours and leftover paints up together into a big, muddy, soapy, chemical broth).
However the older you get, the more obvious it is. What Garfield is on about in concerns to all things – in a darker, more decadent sense. He loves lasagne because he loves THE SIN OF IT. The CARBS. The CHEESE. Eating carbs makes adults feel alive in their otherwise boring work weeks (sorry, kids – I don’t mean to dash your dreams. Though to be fair, kids shouldn’t really be reading this blog, anyway. Far too many swear words and phallic images for your delicate eyes). Garfield loves sleep to escape THE UNHOLY SHITSTORM THAT IS HIS EXISTENCE. Garfield is sarcastic because HE HATES EVERYTHING AND ALL THINGS IN A SLIGHTLY CHARMING BUT MOSTLY REALISTIC MANNER.
Particularly the crowing crapbasket that is Monday morning.
There are several villains that you do not want to come head-to-head with on a Monday morning and also several ways in which to vanquish them, so in the interests of preserving your general happiness I thought I’d share them with you. However I may have already failed at this task, for now it’s Tuesday and I’m editing this and the Morning morning monsters have crawled back into their dusky pits, ready for next week. So, sorry about that.
The moody blues…
Mirrors are like that friend who is so riddled with insecurities, they’re mean and horrible to you all the time and whisper nasty things in your ear like; “you look like you’re dead inside” and “oh my god! You put on weight over the weekend!? How is that possible?”
I think it’s far better to run to work with a thick scarf/balaclava (though those nowadays have very negative connotations – faces are doomed to freeze in Winter to preserve your good reputation) elbowing people out of the way haphazardly whilst knocking over fruit stalls and innocents in your path (akin to some sort of mad movie dash) rather than look into a mirror. Either that, or you should approach your mirror with Meryl Streep levels of “I don’t give a crap”, complete with dark glasses.
Decaff, why!? Who genuinely enjoys the bitter, nebulonic (def., the taste of the deepest, blackest nebula in a glass) sting of coffee? Who doesn’t want the only perk – feeling perkier – when they drink it?? WHY???? It’s like, LITERALLY THE ONLY PERK.
Decaff was a devilish invention created by literal demons to cheat tired and needy people out of the single enjoyable thing about early mornings.
All people – particularly optimistic people – are a cause for concern before 10 a.m. in the morning. I decree that we should be suspicious of ALL happy people in the early hours: especially those who are loud. And particularly the loud, happy people who drink decaff. There’s got to be something up with that.
People who are loud and happy in the mornings clearly haven’t been exposed to a) Garfield the cat or b) The knowledge that there are little, Garfield-like minions who live in our ears and, every time someone is loud and happy in the morning, they dig their little claws into the inside of your VERY BRAIN and meow consistently until you have no choice but to feel rather irked.
It is also a fact that these little cats only go away through exposure to coffee, sleep and/or weekends.
Monday is not a salad day. After the wanton awfulness of your weekend you have to ease your way back into health, otherwise you risk the chance of meeting the Reaper, who, incidentally, is a Garfield-shaped ghoul who curses you for your lack of self-respect when you feed your body green things during such an awful time.
The only successful salad I’ve had, which sticks in memory, is an incredible one from a little deli in Leeds which was plugged down by thick halloumi and BEANS. So many beans. Conversely, I have many carb memories that I indulge in in my naughtiest, most intimate moments. As you can see, the ratio of Salad:Carbohydrate Successful Memories is largely uneven, indicating that if you want to elevate your Monday happiness up a notch, there is only one route. And it’s not through eating roots.
If you’re a very healthy type, however (you probably drink decaff too) perhaps try one of these simple combinations:
– A massive baguette with a whole lettuce in it
– Three cakes topped off with a tomato
– A caesar salad with everything when caesar salad is the safeword for a sausage roll.
5. Social forums
Social forums are a sad, nostalgic place to be on Monday morning, as the dregs of everybody’s weekend pictures begin to resurface. Facebook is the worst devil-machine (which is really no surprise – we all know it’s a corporate, bloodsucking monster device) when it comes to this, particularly with that Timehop thing that they share – WHY? Why remind me that I was doing something way cooler on this day, three years ago? IT’S NO LONGER THREE YEARS AGO AND NOR WILL IT EVER BE. How cruel.
The other extreme is that people just consistently complain at the fact that it’s Monday. Which probably doesn’t mean too much to you, if you’ve read this far through this piece. Or maybe you’ve just been waiting for the next bit…
… And how to vanquish them
There had to be a turnaround at some point in this article. I was about to push the ‘Publish’ button, having made myself so silently irate with these little frustrations, before remembering what the title of this piece actually is. Cool tip for people with half of a goldfish’s capacity to remember stuff: Always think of the title first, and put all the shit you want to include in your article in it, somehow. Could be a very long title, but that’s why we have small-print.
1. All of the GIFS
There is not a funny GIF in the world that does not make me laugh. I love all humour. Cheesy, dry, creepy. It’s all good.
Looking at endless cat GIF after endless cat GIF in a row, constantly, for about three and a half hours on a Monday morning, is the only soothing way to prod you into the week. I strongly advise it.
2. Coffee. With caff
All caff without the D (“without the D”… not something that I usually say… *wink*). Real coffee. Not devil coffee. I think you know what I mean.
3. Looking at Tobey Maguire’s face
This is a relatively new discovery for me and probably fairly similar to point 1 but, as a special case, I thought I should implement it anyway. Tobey Maguire’s face is majestic. Tobey Maguire’s face is inspiring. Tobey Maguire’s face reminds me, on a near daily basis, that he is the only Spiderman.
Doesn’t that just fill you with joy?
I feel like I could write a short book about Tobey Maguire’s face and how we can all relate to each and every one of them at some stage in our lives – particularly, in the above set, on a Monday. Knowing that Spiderman goes through the same emotional pain as I do is definitely a confidence boost.
4. Stagger out breakfast
Drag out eating breakfast so that the whole debacle lasts for about two hours. In doing so, you prolong the pleasure that is The Breakfast Experience – eating food and having nobody come over to you to make small-talk, as every time they look over you’re still eating. Result.
5. Adult colouring books
Adult colouring books have just become a thing and they’re probably the most therepeutic investment you can make, short of booking yourself a half-year long holiday to the Maldives or something. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of the primal joy that is the act of colouring in: particularly when you can colour in the likes of Bill Murray:
I think you know you’ve made it when somebody produces a colouring book about you, complete with awesome pun.