Thought for today:
"Unhappy people always tend to focus upon time ahead instead of the time they are currently living. Consequently, much of their Sundays will be wasted thinking about 'horrible Mondays.' When a person hates the start of their week, they are often unknowingly expressing a dislike for their life in general as opposed to having a distinct preference for weekends in particular.
People unhappy at home will always take their unhappiness into their job or school with them every day; particularly on a Monday morning. Unfortunately, people unhappy at work will also take their unhappiness back into their homes with them, especially every weekend. It isn't that they choose to do so, but merely that they cannot help doing so! Indeed, Mondays will become a scapegoat for their otherwise unfulfilled lives; yet weekends won't prove any different despite their constant wishing for it to come round again.
Consider for one moment their week. They will hum and har and fart about all Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, constantly expressing a wish for Friday to 'roll on.' It will usually be Thursday before they force themselves to do a proper day's work and they will only do that in the certain knowledge that tomorrow is the last working day of their week and they have the full weekend to relax.
On Friday evening they will eventually get back home after battling with the traffic congestion. Upon arrival home they will find the house dimly lit. They will not find a table set for two when they open the house door, no meal ready to be served and eaten in the pleasant ambiance of soft lighting, no scented candles and loving music playing in the background as the cork on a new wine bottle is popped open and the contents slowly poured. Instead they will return to an empty house and an unhappy home.
On the mantle place will be a scibbled note that simply says, 'See you later after evening class.There's a pork pie in the fridge if you get peckish before I'm back.See you around 9.30pm.'
If I'm peckished?' It is at this precise moment that the weekend atmostphere is suddenly filled with all manner of swearing and profanity as the lonely husband thinks about his missus attending her yoga class with her girl friends; she who hadn't the time in her busy daily schedule to even leave him a simple sandwich prepared before she went off galavanting with her friends!
With the pork pie partly eaten, he flops onto the sofa to watch a bit of footie on the tv and relax. No bloody chance! The door bell rings and cousins he hasn't seen for fifteen years and couldn't care less about decide to make a surprise visit, accompanied by their four snotty-nosed kids and cocker spaniel who has developed the unfortunate habit of mistaking human legs for lamp posts.Then the telephone starts ringing.
As he allows his long lost cousin and tribe to come in and trash the family home while he answers that blasted phone again that will just not stop ringing after 6pm every Friday evening, his ears are filled with gentle hatred. He hears a pleasant and jolly voice at the other end of the line from some call-centre sale's-worker who is just starting his weekend shift on minimum wage. This friendly caller seems very eager to tell him his Christian name and expresses a desire to know his in return before he feels comfortable continuing with his sales chat. The caller seems desirious to tell him about his firm's latest offer which is just 'too good' to miss, especially as their number has been selected for preferential consideration from all the people in their area.
The harrassed husband tries to end the call, but having just made his acquaintance, the call-centre caller seems most reluctant to lose such a 'close' relationship so quickly, especially before he's had the chance to promote his 'offer of the week' and clinch a sale.
He pretends that there's someone at the door and slams the phone down, only to find that before the phone hits the receiver, the door bell has rung again. This time it's the window cleaner who wants his money as the missus
had no change on her when he washed them on Tuesday afternoon. Of course she didn't; I mean why should she? Why should any woman ever need access to a purse she never opens in her husband's presence? Why waste time having any money about her when all she wants can be acquired by the mere production of a credit card or a few whispered sweet nothings in her husbands ear on a Friday night in bed?
After paying off the window cleaner yet again, he sighs and returns to his settee and football match which he now finds is filled by his long, lost cousins enjoying the match between hushing their kids and watching their dog piss in the geranium plant pot by the window.
By the time the missus returns home at 10.30pm having had a quick four gin and tonics with the girls after class before coming back home, the poor chap is in bed snoring his head off when the bedroom light is switched on and he hears a babbling in the background as his missus starts telling him about something or someone who he couldn't care a tinker's curse about .
Saturday morning arrives and the birds tweeting in the garden wakes the man up. His thoughts instantly focus on a relaxing Saturday, but quickly vanish into the distant mist as the missus wakes him up and gives him a list of weekend jobs that need to be done without fail and won't stop talking until he acknowledge that he's heard her and will promise to do them.
Saturday chores tire him out and by evening he is completely washed out and goes to bed early without even watching 'Match of the Day.' As he sinks into the sheets for a good night's sleep' his wife decides to join him for an early night. She slips off her clothes and throws them on the floor and starts whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He turns his back on her and feigns a blinding headache before pretending to be asleep. It might be her Saturday night to her, but to all intents and purposes, it's no different than his Monday mornings!" William Forde:June 22nd, 2014.
"Unhappy people always tend to focus upon time ahead instead of the time they are currently living. Consequently, much of their Sundays will be wasted thinking about 'horrible Mondays.' When a person hates the start of their week, they are often unknowingly expressing a dislike for their life in general as opposed to having a distinct preference for weekends in particular.
People unhappy at home will always take their unhappiness into their job or school with them every day; particularly on a Monday morning. Unfortunately, people unhappy at work will also take their unhappiness back into their homes with them, especially every weekend. It isn't that they choose to do so, but merely that they cannot help doing so! Indeed, Mondays will become a scapegoat for their otherwise unfulfilled lives; yet weekends won't prove any different despite their constant wishing for it to come round again.
Consider for one moment their week. They will hum and har and fart about all Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, constantly expressing a wish for Friday to 'roll on.' It will usually be Thursday before they force themselves to do a proper day's work and they will only do that in the certain knowledge that tomorrow is the last working day of their week and they have the full weekend to relax.
On Friday evening they will eventually get back home after battling with the traffic congestion. Upon arrival home they will find the house dimly lit. They will not find a table set for two when they open the house door, no meal ready to be served and eaten in the pleasant ambiance of soft lighting, no scented candles and loving music playing in the background as the cork on a new wine bottle is popped open and the contents slowly poured. Instead they will return to an empty house and an unhappy home.
On the mantle place will be a scibbled note that simply says, 'See you later after evening class.There's a pork pie in the fridge if you get peckish before I'm back.See you around 9.30pm.'
If I'm peckished?' It is at this precise moment that the weekend atmostphere is suddenly filled with all manner of swearing and profanity as the lonely husband thinks about his missus attending her yoga class with her girl friends; she who hadn't the time in her busy daily schedule to even leave him a simple sandwich prepared before she went off galavanting with her friends!
With the pork pie partly eaten, he flops onto the sofa to watch a bit of footie on the tv and relax. No bloody chance! The door bell rings and cousins he hasn't seen for fifteen years and couldn't care less about decide to make a surprise visit, accompanied by their four snotty-nosed kids and cocker spaniel who has developed the unfortunate habit of mistaking human legs for lamp posts.Then the telephone starts ringing.
As he allows his long lost cousin and tribe to come in and trash the family home while he answers that blasted phone again that will just not stop ringing after 6pm every Friday evening, his ears are filled with gentle hatred. He hears a pleasant and jolly voice at the other end of the line from some call-centre sale's-worker who is just starting his weekend shift on minimum wage. This friendly caller seems very eager to tell him his Christian name and expresses a desire to know his in return before he feels comfortable continuing with his sales chat. The caller seems desirious to tell him about his firm's latest offer which is just 'too good' to miss, especially as their number has been selected for preferential consideration from all the people in their area.
The harrassed husband tries to end the call, but having just made his acquaintance, the call-centre caller seems most reluctant to lose such a 'close' relationship so quickly, especially before he's had the chance to promote his 'offer of the week' and clinch a sale.
He pretends that there's someone at the door and slams the phone down, only to find that before the phone hits the receiver, the door bell has rung again. This time it's the window cleaner who wants his money as the missus
had no change on her when he washed them on Tuesday afternoon. Of course she didn't; I mean why should she? Why should any woman ever need access to a purse she never opens in her husband's presence? Why waste time having any money about her when all she wants can be acquired by the mere production of a credit card or a few whispered sweet nothings in her husbands ear on a Friday night in bed?
After paying off the window cleaner yet again, he sighs and returns to his settee and football match which he now finds is filled by his long, lost cousins enjoying the match between hushing their kids and watching their dog piss in the geranium plant pot by the window.
By the time the missus returns home at 10.30pm having had a quick four gin and tonics with the girls after class before coming back home, the poor chap is in bed snoring his head off when the bedroom light is switched on and he hears a babbling in the background as his missus starts telling him about something or someone who he couldn't care a tinker's curse about .
Saturday morning arrives and the birds tweeting in the garden wakes the man up. His thoughts instantly focus on a relaxing Saturday, but quickly vanish into the distant mist as the missus wakes him up and gives him a list of weekend jobs that need to be done without fail and won't stop talking until he acknowledge that he's heard her and will promise to do them.
Saturday chores tire him out and by evening he is completely washed out and goes to bed early without even watching 'Match of the Day.' As he sinks into the sheets for a good night's sleep' his wife decides to join him for an early night. She slips off her clothes and throws them on the floor and starts whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He turns his back on her and feigns a blinding headache before pretending to be asleep. It might be her Saturday night to her, but to all intents and purposes, it's no different than his Monday mornings!" William Forde:June 22nd, 2014.
