Well... they should. I am living proof that they should NEVER start on Monday's. And this is why...
It seems like most of my Sunday nights are spent reflecting on the week before. My mistakes, things I could have done differently, stuff I want to do in the upcoming week, etc.
I can never fall asleep on Sunday nights. It feels like I've taken a huge hit of crack or something before I brush my teeth and change into my pj's. So, I lay in the dark and think. Then, I turn on the T.V. and try to make myself tired by watching some sick and twisted episode of Criminal Minds. But, I never make it all the way through those shows, because I psych myself out, believing the creeps that the so-called "writers" come up with are waiting to murder me, lurking outside my bedroom window. (By the way, people who think of plots and characters for murder mysteries, secretly wish they could be involved in similar scenarios... it's probably the one thing they never got the chance to check off of their bucket list. The thought of this gives me the heebie geebies.)
Anyways, so I turn off the T.V. because now I'm scared and restless... but I just continue to lay there. I try to count sheep, but that is the most ridiculous concept of all time and whoever came up with it should be thrown in the looney bin. I get sidetracked, trying to think of what a sheep actually looks like. Then, my mind wanders to something else, like when the last time was that I painted my toenails. Suddenly, I remember that a friend once told me that staring at a computer screen or T.V. before you go to bed messes with your brain and keeps you awake for hours, even after you turn it off.
So, it's 2:30 in the morning and I decide that it's time to get down to business and take two benadryl.
Which causes me to sleep through my first three alarms I set for myself in the morning. My exhausted mind tells me to "rest my eyes" for 20 more minutes instead of showering, because the only person that could wake up for a shower at 6:30 a.m. would be Clark Kent. And he had to wear a suit to work, so he doesn't count anyways.
Resting my eyes for 20 more minutes turns into snoring for 45. I am unable to have my morning coffee because, while I can recall every minor faux pas I committed in the previous week, I can't remember to run to the grocery store on Sundays to get coffee grounds. Now, without coffee, I am completely useless and might as well be drunk as a skunk.
I always think I have enough time to grab a cinnamon roll from McDonald's, which I most certainly do not, and I also forget that I was supposed to start a diet today, and I might as well have stopped at the nearest malls Cinnabon... the arch nemisis of dieting, as well as the organ commonly known as the heart.
I'm rushing to work because I can't find a parking spot, eatting my cinnamon roll on the way, and then look down only to realize I have created a masterpiece on my shirt from the dripped icing, but hey... it kind of resembles the Mona Lisa.
I'm depressed by this point because I forgot the turkey sandwich I packed for myself on the kitchen counter, and will have to shamefully eat my second fast food meal of the day for lunch.
By quitting time, the only thing I want to do is plop down on the couch, watch 4 episodes of Desperate Housewives, with a box of Bon Bon's comforting me on the next cushion over.
I can sleep on Monday nights. I am well rested on Tuesday mornings. Which is why I have designated every Tuesday from now until I'm 6 feet under as "Diet Kick-Off Days".