I have piles of reports and stacks of binders that need tending to.

Statistics demand to be read and tallied. Program objectives cry out for evaluation.

Yep, I should be working.

But I can see the sky from my window. Crisp and tidy - a dazzling shade of azure blue. And shards of light are exploding into my living room. Making ordinary objects into works of art.

The world's a little lazy today like my fat bellied cat. Round and full and in no big hurry.

There's something about Sundays that makes them more luxurious.

Sundays remind of jazz. And late brunches. And pitchers of mimosas.

Not quarterly reports or monthly invoices.

Sundays are best spent with friends. In a cafe. Somewhere beautiful.

Not in a dusty office. All alone.

So, yes, I should be working. But I'm not.

And I won't.

That's what Mondays are for.

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