There’s nothing quite as wonderful as our unshakable belief in our own abilities. Everyone hates Monday mornings, but at least it comes with that comfortable feeling that this week will somehow be different. All those broken promises we make ourselves, again and again, those honourable intentions to really improve, to get our lives together come flooding back in. Unlike Friday night, in those dread moments as we contemplate the mess we’ve made, Monday comes with a renewed sense of purpose. The start of a week makes us think we can do anything, we can have the productive week we’ve always dreamed of. Then before you know it it’s Thursday and you’ve told yourself the same old familiar lies, and here they are:
“This reading will only take me an hour!”
Other people seem to get cookies, letters from home or presents in their pidge. You get a mammoth wedge of reading from your tutor for a seminar, covering fifteen extracts on a topic you didn’t even know existed. As you pull it out and feel its hefty weight crushing your soul you convince yourself that you’ll not leave it until the last minute this time. You’ll make notes and read it thoroughly, paying actual attention. Then suddenly it’s an hour before your seminar and you’ve only read the title, but admittedly you’ve read it sixteen times. You’re a quick reader! It’ll be fine. You manage to convince yourself that you can get through it all in time. Spoiler alert, you can’t.
“I’m getting up early every day this week. Lie-ins are for the weekend.”
But your bed is so comfy. Let’s be honest here, you’re still shattered, so maybe it’d be better if we just lay here and caught up on our sleep. Then we’d definitely pay more attention in the next lecture. That way, when it comes to working later, we’ll be so much more productive. Yeah, it totally makes sense to stay right here for another three hours.
“No Kebabs this week. I’m only going to eat meals. No more snacking.”
The annoying thing about this one is that you’ll keep it for a while. You’ll feel really good about yourself and find you’re actually enjoying the healthy life style. Then someone will mention Hassans, or Achmed’s, or McDonald’s or anywhere really and the image of that gorgeous fast food will float into mind. You’ll start salivating uncontrollably and a hunger will develop deep in the pit of your stomach which can only be satisfied by a pile of greasy chips laden down with cheese. There’s no fighting it, you’ve been entrapped.
“I’m not going out this week.”
Oh but you will. Trust me you will. It’s never just one drink. You’ll never go to just pres. Your FOMO will take over, that glittering promise that tonight could well be the best night of your life, and you will find yourself in the queue for Bridge, ignoring the little voice in your head that’s screaming at you for your terrible life decisions.
“I’ll ring my parents more.”
You have the best of intentions if nothing else. Then time runs away with you and when you finally get around to calling them, they genuinely seem surprised you’re not dead.
“I’m going to tidy my room.”
You simply cannot live like this any longer. The piles of clothes that has devoured your chair. Tripping over the empty takeaway boxes, the folders falling off the bookshelves, your unwashed bedsheets congealing on the mattress. That soul-crippling embarrassment having to reveal this ungodly mess to your scout every week. You’re going to get a black bag, you’re going to gut this place and it’s going to be sparkling clean! But you can’t do it tonight because you’re going out. Then you’ve got that essay to do. Then your parents are coming to visit. You know what? You’ll get to it at some point.
