Fog-influenced overcast this early Monday on California’s north coast — another notch in our mundane weather cycle.
Now officially into summer, we’re still going to be the same for awhile. Despite the environment here along the Pacific shoreline, the NWS calls for triple-digit temperatures this week for the interior, and more wildfires. We’re supposedly due for the mid-60s today.

Nowadays as a non-worker, I don’t feel that horrible, overbearing hatred of Mondays, and of that mantra of the weekday employed — a Monday ‘“..contains elements of depression, tiredness, hopelessness and a sense that work is unpleasant but unavoidable.”‘
Last month, though, the state had a jobs-growth spurt spurt, adding nearly 55,000 new slots to the market: ‘“California’s job market continues to hum.”‘

No longer needing to ‘hum’ that weekend bullshit, I much prefer Mondays now to Fridays.

(Illustration: Pablo Picasso’s ‘Musician, Dancer, Goat & Bird,‘ found here).

Of course, the big draw-down on this mental apparatus is the current news cycle — mass shootings in church, killings on a basketball court in Detroit during a block party (“I think one individual was the target, the others just happened to be at this party”), and since Friday: ‘Three men were killed — including a man who died shielding his mother from gunfire — and at least 32 others were wounded in weekend shootings as summer started in Chicago.’
Meanwhile in Philadelphia: ‘Police say two children, ages 2 and 10, and five adults, ages 15 to 25, were shot during a block party. The 2-year-old was shot in the neck.’

The US has a way-major gun problem, coupled with a humongous smorgasbord of other ones, probably just as bad, but require a gun — looks worse on Mondays, sometimes.
Once again, the late, great George Carlin upended reality: ‘“If you take five white guys and put ’em with five black guys, and let ’em hang around together for about a month, and at the end of the month, you’ll notice that the white guys are walking and talking and standing like the black guys do. You’ll never see the black guys going, “Oh, golly! We won the big game today, yes sir!” But you’ll see guys with red hair named Duffy going, “What’s happenin’?”‘