Mondays and Millionaires

It’s morning, just after dawn, which is bad enough, but it’s also Monday, which makes it worse. I don’t hate Mondays in some existential Garfield sort of way, but it’s still a rough way to start the week. The dog is having a morning apparently, and refuses to do all of her morning business outside. She hates Mondays as well, it seems. So do the chickens, who collectively decide that leaving the coop when I open the door is a bridge too far this morning. Chickens are idiots, but in this case, I agree with them. My opinion of the day improves somewhat after coffee. My brain perks up, but my body continues to drag. I don’t fight against it. I can do my job quickly or slowly, and it won’t make much difference. Either way, it gets done. On a positive note, a little old lady who asks for a stamp to put on her $1,000,000 sweepstakes entry tells me that when she wins, she will come and pick me up and we’ll go have some fun together. I don’t know if she saw the ring on my finger, so I hope she…