It's Monday.

Monday means putting the jeans away until Friday.
Monday means I've been on a two-pot coffee buzz since 9 a.m.
Monday means at least a four hour stint at the coffee shop.
Monday means staring at a blank computer screen, trying to puzzle out the pictures in my head into words on the page.
Mondays means a new iTunes playlist.
Monday means I'm pulling a news shift at work.
Monday means I hit the caffeine crash around six.
Monday means I don't have any money for the Coke machine.
Monday means the pink iPod is out of batteries.
Monday means my only contact with Adam throughout the day is a series of three minute phone calls where one of us complains it's A) Monday and B) we're tired. Not much gets said on Mondays.
Monday means coming home on Tuesday morning, climbing into bed, pulling Adam out of deep sleep and pushing him into a disturbed REM cycle, where he'll be trapped in nightmares that involve lots of kicking on his part that will send me to the upstairs couch for refuge and a semblence of five decent hours of sleep by 3 a.m.
Monday means I'm back at work ten hours after I left.

Ooof.

Still it's not all bad. I lugged the iBook to work, which means I have iTunes, and I swiped Adam's earbuds for the duration, which kick total ass. They fit all my criteria for headphones: they have clear sound, they muffle ambient noise at low volume and they fit comfortably in my ear. I might not give them back.