I never structure my weekends, except when I’m leaving town. So, structureless, there’s ample opportunity for worry, fretting, spirals, and so on. That’s why I love Mondays so much: the return of structure, of someone needing my professional services, co-workers who don’t know I’m crazy (much).

Obviously, there’s ample room for improvement here. People ask, “What are you doing this weekend?” and I give some lie, knowing that I’ll spend much of it in front of the computer, my haven.

What is it about computers — and by that of course I mean the Internet — that helps mentally ill people so much? Interaction without real interaction, action without real action — a world contained inside a little box and monitor, controllable, knowable, safe. I run to it all the time. I stay up far too late using the computer, ruining my sleep patterns with the harsh light of the screen bathing my pupils. Many times I wake during the night and go to the computer, feeling there’s something I must do but not knowing what it is. Eyes drooping, I’ve logged many, many hours just dicking around online. Man of the future, or Internet addict?

Mondays take me away from all that, force me out of my habits and into the world, the real world, where things aren’t boxed up, blinking, pretty, and asking always for clicks, money, and time.

Here’s to Mondays. But now it’s Monday night — time to get online till dawn.