Art Heals: Monday

“Monday, Monday, can't trust that day;
Monday, Monday, it just turns out that way.
Oh, Monday, Monday, won't go away;
Monday, Monday, it's here to stay.”
That’s the Mamas and the Papas, and this Kid concurs.  And for present day mamas and papas, and their kids, it really, really just won’t go away.  For many of us, we are living in a perpetual Monday.   Perhaps we tried to avoid home schooling and chores and keyboarding on the “weekend,”  but for most still in lockdown, there is no end to the week, and Monday is just a wedge on the wheel of fortune that seems to  come up with every spin.
It wasn’t always that way. Historically, the Greco-Roman week began with Sunday  (sun-day being a much cheerier construct than moon-day,  that day that moons around, lethargically booting itself up to reluctantly get some work done).  Monday is called some variant of “after Sunday” in many Eastern European languages, or, in many ecclesiastical traditions, “second day” (Latin, Greek, Arabic).  Seriously, after Sunday, second rate is more like it.
But here we are, stuck in the era of melancholy Monday.  For me, it shakes its reproachful finger at me,

chiding me for breaking all the promises I’d made to myself for the previous weekend (vacuum the whole apartment, put away the winter clothes, finally set up the Bluetooth for the printer, step on the scale, reassess my life goals).  Not until I hoist myself upon my chair and start WFH (working from home) does the carping abate.
But then something happens.  That precious spark of energy that had slowly drained away by Sunday night begins to return.  I have things to do!  Thoughts to think!  Places to go—well no, still no place to go, except the other room, or the refrigerator.   But still. 
Monday is here to stay, but each time it comes around in endless pandemic procession I get closer to the exit.
Artist Rajie Cook provides me with an exit today, in three-dimensional copper.  Art Heals.