It is June 1. Already. And it’s the first day of the work week following a 3-day (4-day for me) weekend. Always tough. I always wake up on the side of ambition going into that first day after a holiday. Like this morning, I got up after only one snooze-button tap, 20 minutes of spine-stretching yoga, a cup of coffee, and I was off and mentally running. Preparing for my day by listing what I would get accomplished at work.

After two more cups of coffee flavored with white mocha creamer while sitting in front of my computer responding to one email after another, well, let’s just say the ambition started to ebb. I did manage a pretty productive day, confirmed by the check marks on my list. Yes, I make a list every Monday of all the projects and other items I need to complete, or would like to complete, that week at work. I believe I marked five out of eleven items. Not bad for a Tuesday that was actually a double-Monday. But by 3:00, ambition had left the building. Those are the times I find most difficult at work. When I’m tired, uninspired, and there’s just a few hours left in the work day and I can’t decide if I want to start a new project, or find something else to fill my time.

Most days I have plenty to keep me busy. People to call, people to meet, guidelines to write, insurance policies to review, biographies to write, letters to write and mail, weekly stats to update. But there are those occasional hours that find me between projects, between mailings, between checking off things on my list. Those are the hours I dread. More so the day after a holiday weekend. Those slow-as-sludge hours give me ample time for my mind to wander, to recall the glorious relaxing moments of my weekend, to contemplate the next chapter of the book I’m reading, to wonder if I left clothes in the dryer overnight, or did I receive an important letter in the mail informing me that my book is to be published. This leads to checking my calendar for upcoming events for the next weekend, checking AbeBooks for the purchase of my next book to follow the one I’m reading now, to wonder if I actually left clothes in the washer and not the dryer, and is the letter actually my fifth rejection notice and is there enough Squirt leftover from the weekend to make a Charro Blanco to help wash down this latest lump in my throat that is rejection.

So goes the day after a holiday. When is July 4th weekend?