I love the rain. It gives me a certain kind of energy that propels me dream. To create. To imagine. To read poetry and feel it with all my five senses. To listen to music and be moved. To dance and meditate through it.
Mondays, however are not always looked forward to. Monday mornings are the most difficult time of the week. It's when I have to forcefully detach myself from the carefree, debauched weekend that passed. It's the time of the week--- the only time of the week--- when I question the Universe why I can't be filthy rich so that I won't have to work.
But as from every rule there is an exception, let today, March 9, Monday, be the exception from my Monday loathing.
If every now and then, my Mondays could offer little pleasures like,
- an unexpected call from the immigration telling me that my working visa sponsorship has been transferred and extended till June of next year,
- realizing that I have more money than I thought and because of that I manage to give myself a little midday treat,
- meeting someone in the lift, a Caucasian ballroom dancer, who says that she could tell I'm a sensitive dancer by the way I stand,
- T treating me to a sumptuous Italian dinner to celebrate my visa extension,
- showing up in the studio and realizing that my class is full and my students tell me that they got excited when they were told I was taking over another instructor's class,
- coming home and discovering an unexpected paycheck delivered by post, and dinner waiting for me (prepared by my best friend, Dan),
- receiving an instant message while podcasting telling us that our podcast is the Blog Of The Week, and that my blog is nominated for next week,
- being rained on a bit as I walk the busy streets of CWB, just before I run Jethro's choreography,
the way it did today, then Monday would be my favorite day of the week.