I never used to get Mondayitis. I’d spend my Saturdays and Sundays getting more agitated by the hour that nobody was getting back to me about my work and class-related questions that always seemed to be of paramount importance (and for some reason or another, I only really thought of at 6PM on a Friday afternoon). But, of course, the grass is always greener. Now that I’ve made a habit of overcommitting myself in every possible way (I’m sure there’s an astrological explanation for that – anyone?), my Sunday energy is more productively channeled into attempts (in vain) of time-travelling back to Saturday morning where I would solemnly swear to spend less time eating avocado toast out, and more time getting work done this time, to avoid the panic and subsequent brain-freeze that comes with 9PM on a Sunday evening, physically bracing oneself against the inevitable
onslaught of follow-up emails and calls about unfinished business and logistical nightmares.
Perhaps not quite so dramatic.
I love my job.
All the same, my favourite part of working from the US is that by the time New York wakes up on a Friday, Sydney-siders are well and truly out-of-office.
The story in France, however, is a different story. For the French, Sunday is Sunday.
Monday is also Sunday.
And Wednesday is probably Sunday, too.
Parisians work so efficiently over the remainder of the week, that Sunday (the real Sunday) can actually be taken to wake-up late,
contemplate the great questions of the Universe from the perch of your iron filagree windowsill, listen to turbulently emotional Chopin, and enjoy a long lunch with dear friends. Certainly, they might not be so fortunate every week as Major and I were on this particular Sunday in Paris a month or so ago, inhaling cheese and cherries, squid-ink pasta, and canelé prepared by none other than dreamy Karen Mordechai (and her equally dreamy young family) in their sensational Trocadéro apartment, but a baguette by the river and a few hours of uninhibited wonderment at the grand beauty of Paris will do well to dispel the tension of the week ahead.
I land in Paris again in a Sunday’s time (after what looks to be a hellish week of assessments and work).
See you then.