Know what I say to that? LET'S BE SAD. Monday is a huge suckfest all the way around, and we're just kidding ourselves when we go around and say trite shit like, "This is going to be a great week!" and, "I am going to stay positive today!" No, you won't. The minute you step foot into your office, or classroom, or wherever you work, that smile will turn upside down and you'll be wishing that you were addicted to cigarettes so you could get a break every half hour or so. Chances are, this week will be just as mundane and suicide-inducing as last week until you're set free for two days by the wondrous, sexy weekend. So let's cut the crap and just indulge in our Monday blues. Which is why I'm starting a new feature I'm calling Sad Bastard Music Monday, where I will post a short playlist of songs that'll make you want to curl up on the couch with a box of tissues and season one of Dawson's Creek and just BAWL YOUR FUCKING EYES OUT.
To kick off this new feature, I decided to go with one of my personal favorites when it comes to sad bastard music: Chicago. So sit back, close your eyes, and let Peter Cetera's voice make sad, reluctantly consensual love to your mind. It won't be satisfying for either one of you, and you'll probably wind up even more depressed than you were before, but it's Monday. Let it happen. It's okay to cry.