And Monday = coffee.
When I get to work on Monday mornings, I look for two things. The first is almond milk. I have recently decided to forgo dairy consumption and my stomach is effusively grateful.
The second is a smoke signal. One that outlines hope. I’ll take any indication that will manifest as it pleases — I don’t care how: temporarily impair my eyesight if you have t0 — that this week is going to be a good one.
The one right in front of us in particular holsters a boxcar full of profound anxiety because Susan Miller all but laughed in my face last week when I clicked into Astrology Zone and thought, okay, Suzy, let’s make this a good one! Evidently, it will not be a good one. I’m paraphrasing the following but she basically told me I’m better off peeling my nails from their beds than continuing on this trajectory called Leandra’s life, which, by the way, I will have no control over. None! At all!
Also of note: Venus is to blame for my imminent demise. But I digress.
I found almond milk but I’m still seeking the signal. In the past, it has appeared as quality Internet fodder. Sometimes it’s Buzzfeed showing me weird under water critters who also know how to juggle and fill out 1099 forms. Other times, it’s a very robust helping of personal style which, as far as I’m concerned is the most accurate euphemism for a Monday morning brain massage when considering she (or he!) who loves fashion.
I haven’t found mine yet but in a deeply humble effort to help you find yours, here’s an outfit I wore last week, shot last week, haven’t taken off since last week to get Monday morning’s ball sack rolling with the homies. There are so many matings to be had with just a measly denim jacket and the tuxedo blazer that cloaks it. Reverse it, take one off, take both off, tie one around waist, wrap one around your shoulder. Oysters.
The shoes are Céline (now at least — they were Steve Madden when I first got them in 2001) and them jeans are Acne. I appreciate the nature of their high waist demeanor because sometimes after a big ass lunch, I look like a metropolitan kangaroo, harboring life with my lower stomach.
Other days I just feel like an acrobat —
But in the grand scheme of things, that is always, like even the longest Monday, very short-lived.