Wet Socks

It's Tuesday night now and that which was intended to be completed yesterday has unsurprisingly crept and slept its way right up until the current time, 19:23 as the little clock in the corner tells me. Although my yet-to-be-written autobiography titled "Procrastina-" hasn't quite come to fruition yet, if and when it would hypothetically be written there would be a chapter within titled "Wet Sock Days".
Wet Sock Days recently came to me in the inspirational form of a wet sock; God works in mysterious ways sometimes. See, yesterday was Martin Luther King day or human rights day or something, all I know is I didn't have to go to school, go to work, or for that matter go out of bed; any holiday that has minimal public interaction and responsibility is a Grade A Holiday in my book. In their most cynical interpretations ( a mood I find all the more comforting on a dark January night with cold feet) some holidays are just too cumbersome with tradition, ritual, and social propaganda (charging material items to an 18 month interest-free credit card comes to mind). But that's a tangent for another time. No today is about Wet Sock Day or "Dirty Monday" if you will. WS Days are any day after a 3 day, 4 day, or prolonged weekend/vacation not to exceed a total of 14 days (after that long you're just plain lazy) when one is expected to get right back on that ninny of a horse called "reality" and you just can't seem to get with the program. It's the world's little way of giving you a sucker punch or a well placed Dead Leg right after a relaxing massage. You've gotten this free pass day to do essentially whatever you choose (they tell me this luxury becomes a rare delicacy indeed after marriage but for now, they're mine and I'll savor them) and then, BAM, you wake up the next day and you put on a pair of fresh warm socks and minutes before you leave you step in the melted snow that has come off of your sneakers in the kitchen and now it's too late to get a new pair AND catch the last bus that will get you to class on time. Wetsockday. It doesn't happen to be that literal every time but it's a metaphor that catches my point in all its drudging glory. You may even find a voice of alleged rational inside saying, "Well maybe it would be better if we didn't have these Holidays in the first place, hmmm?" But then you quickly silence that self righteous condescending little snot by mocking him in the quintessential 4th graded fashion and move on to your next topic of thought. Recently, monster.com ran an ad in which hundreds of suburbanites awake in the pre dawn darkness and rally together armed with their pillows and their coffee tables in order to fight back the approaching abomination of Monday morning; to no avail as you might have assumed.
Mondays I can handle; Monday was that little clause that most of us skipped over in the premortal realm.

"Hmm, a body and an opportunity to exercise free will with a reward behind doors #1 through 3? Or being cast down into outer darkness forced to watch as a spectator as everyone else gets a shot at eternal glory..."

"Yeah I'll take option #1 thank you very much and have a nice day. Oh, and you say I'll have an average of 4000-5000 Mondays while I'm down there? Well how bad can they be, amirite?"

Having personally just recently overcome Monday #1307 I can say that they (Mondays) are getting easier with the passage of time. Either that or the twinkle of youthful hope has most certainly dimmed entirely from my soul's window & considering my 20/400 vision that might be a more logical explanation.

At any rate, most critics (and dads worldwide) would respond to such a complaint with the ever popular, seldom thanked message of, "Well, you gotta grow up sometime!" although it's almost always used in an imperative form with a healthy dash of disgust added for good measure, at least that's how I've heard it.

That's basically it. Wetsockdays suck.

Oh, and when I tried to buy chocolate milk at the vending machine this afternoon to drown my sorrows, it wouldn't take ID cards, that's like double dutch Wetsockday.

Fin.