Take that, Monday.

There is nothing good about a Monday. Wait, I take that back: other than Jack Bauer and 24, there is nothing good about a Monday.

I don't want to wake up on Mondays. Ever. I'm tired. The weekend was long. I'm still trying to sleep off the tension of last night's Grey's Anatomy, for crying out loud. And Extreme Makeover: Home Edition? That literally makes me cry out loud. Never fails. Sunday night television alone is too exhausting to have to wake up to a Monday.

I play a game every day at work. It's really more of "How long can I last before I have to plug my iPod into my ears and drown everyone else out" situation, but to me, it's a game. Especially Mondays. The typing, the talking, the typing, the scanner. The talking. And the typing. It's all too much. Especially on a Monday morning. Today I only lasted 27 minutes before Fiona Apple had to console me. But now I'll have to deal with a dead iPod by the end of the day. Crap.

I imagined a world with no work on Mondays. A life of three-day weekends and lounging in sweatpants before tuning into Fox from 8 p.m. to 9 p.m. on Mondays. A world where Sundays had the potential to be as fantastic as Saturdays. Where bedtime can extend beyond 10 p.m., and after Grey's Anatomy I can stay up to watch the news.

I also imagined world peace, but clearly that's never going to happen either. Without work on Mondays, Tuesday becomes the new perpetual day of hell. Shoot.

Maybe it's a lost cause. Maybe Charles Darwin, along with his theory of evolution, also developed the theory of one bad day a week. Maybe we need to loathe Day 1 of each week so the other six days look that much better in comparison.

But honestly, I'm not much looking forward to Tuesday either. Wednesday and Thursday? Ah, nope. Can we just fast-forward to Friday? 5 p.m.? No?

Well screw you, Monday.