A spot of the Monday blues (the good kind)

Woke up to the sound of driving rain outside the window — what a way to start the week. Peel aching body out of bed. Good aching though, even if I walk a little funny. Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Get slacker ass out of the house into a grey morning. But in the cab on the way to the radio station, while passing a copse of trees (in local context it’s really a drain), I glimpse a spot of bright blue almost lost against the backdrop of green. It was a sight I’ve not seen for a while now, the striking attitude of the paradoxically named Common Kingfisher.

Green cures the blues

Sort of.

Didn’t stay long in the office on Saturday. Got my book and my project files, which I usually promptly ignore till about 10pm on Sunday night when I work on them for a while just to get a bit of a headstart for Monday. Because, well, it’s the weekend and I got weekend things to do and the projects aren’t that urgent anyway. Besides, homework sucks. Hee.

Nothing like a little green to cure the blues (so I hoped). Headed to one of my favourite places. The weather was mild, it even drizzled a bit, and the air was thick and wet and fragrant with the scent of the trees.

Sat at the café to read a bit (see, I did do some work). The view is nice but the place was crowded with families and kids and pet dogs and tourists looking to grab some mid-morning brunch. I was lucky to find a table. I’ve not tried the food at the Botanic Gardens before so I made a mental note to come back really early (maybe there’ll be no queues and the gardens will be really tranquil) and try the breakfast one day.

Wish I could have hung around longer, but I had to rush home to grab lunch and head off for dragon boat. The river’s also green, and two hours of rowing and two blisters later — one on my pinkie finger and one on my big toe (must be from the use your leg to kick and pull) — my back aches too much to think about colours.

Notes from home

1.  I came home and the first thing I noticed was: my dog put on weight. Me, on the other hand, actually ate healthily and walked so much, I lost 1kg. (Easily fixed with half a bowl of chicken rice, I’m a small eater lah, or plate of Hokkien mee.)

2.  The best sleep I got was in New York. Maybe it’s because the bed at my brother’s place was lumpy and lopsided. Maybe it’s because I’m back home and jet-lagged and back at work and having fitful dreams. Of course the company helped. Who knew there was bliss to be found in New York City.

3.  I miss Chicago and cool weather and hot soup and nice buildings and amazing museums and the shiny bean and the U-boat and walking around and I miss New York and people watching and just chilling out in Central Park and the soft green grass and cherry trees in full bloom and dogs playing and people running and rollerbladers dancing. I even miss the chaotic frisbees (that sounds like a name for a girl band). Okay, maybe I don’t miss the chaotic frisbees, seeing that I got hit in the head by a chaotic foam baseball.

4.  As with every time I come back from the states, my body clock wakes me up really early. Today, I am in the office at 8.30am on a Saturday morning. Needed to pick a book up but since I’m here… my desk here is actually more conducive than at home. (Work is good. Dragon boat later is better. Yoga tomorrow morning is best.)

5.  Banana and peanut butter make a good spread for toast. Was thinking about it when I woke up early yesterday and made French toast (boring).

A funny thing happened to me on the way to reality

So, head leaning deep into the pillows, the sound of the engines indicating the plane was close to the ground, my puffy eyes opened and I looked out the window. Rain trees, not elm. Bummer. I guess it happens to everyone coming back from vacation, but, still… A whole bunch of thoughts are in my head, like Maybe it’s not too late to run away and go be a yak herder in Tibet. But sorrow of sorrows, the reality of it all comes crashing in with the weight of a Boeing 747 hitting the tarmac. Our pilots aren’t known for their gentle effortless landings and it was an apt reflection to my sinking mood. Bah.

The timing of the 6.30am arrival was just right. I got enough sleep on the flight (the flight, albeit 23 hours, was one of the best in recent memory, I got three seats by the window to myself the entire way and actually clocked in some decent zzz’s) in time to start the day.

I had time to get home, shower, get dressed for work and still comfort myself with a slice of toast and honey, just to feel that miniscule bit of happiness, then head off to the office. Even though it started to rain — now the weather’s mirroring my mood — and I couldn’t get a cab and it was too late to take the bus, I simply borrowed my brother’s van.

I stepped into the office and everyone was surprised: “I thought you were coming back on Monday.”

Hmm. It’s Thursday. Friday’s a public holiday. I remember thinking I could touch down and go to work, or I could touch down, take the day off and take it easy. But did I really want to have a free day followed by a long weekend when I’m in this antsy a mood? I can’t sleep or nap, it’ll wreak havoc on the jet lag. And one more day of leave is one more day I could be spending in Bali. Or diving. Or…

I guess I must have forgotten to inform the secretary that I would be coming back to work today. Work is good. Work takes my mind off things. Like why didn’t I run away to Tibet to be a yak herder.

And I can’t imagine if everything had been left to Monday morning.

The office is the same. Things are a little abuzz because of the swine flu crisis spreading across the globe and our health authority client is in orange (or some colour that’s not red yet but getting there) mode, setting up task force after task force, and communication plans for a number of possible scenarios. One new pitch and a couple of smaller jobs were waiting for me. One freelancer was leaving so I had to oversee her hand-over to a new junior writer. Another writer whose radio spot was completed and was going on leave next week had to hand over his project to me because the client that approved the spot now wanted to change something which means I have a re-recording session first thing on Monday morning. The usual.

Driving home, tired, starting to fade and wondering if I should be driving, I inexplicably started hiccuping. Hiccup, hiccup, hiccup. Turned the radio on, surfed a couple of stations and Debbie Gibson was singing “We Could Be Together” (the Campfire Mix, no less). I’ve not heard that song for decades. I had forgotten the song existed. I don’t know why but I let the song finish. Surf, surf, surf — and less than five minutes later, on a different station, it’s Debbie Gibson again, singing the same song. With me still hiccuping nonstop in the background and driving. Reality feels like a Coen brothers movie? O where art George Clooney when you need him.