WASHINGTON — The Supreme Court opens its new term Monday, and I want to say plainly, as a man who has never held a job more interesting than writing these columns: there is nothing more human in Washington than nine people dreading a Monday.

The docket is, by every account, enormous. The justices take up religion, guns, climate change, immigration, and — waiting in the wings — election law, with a landmark climate case scheduled for the very first day. The country is anxious. The Court is, one assumes, also anxious, but too dignified to say so, which is the exact posture of every employee who has ever sat in a parking garage for ten minutes before a big meeting, except with marble columns instead of a Civic.

This is the part of government we should defend hardest: the part that simply goes back. Congress legislates, the President governs, and the Court, once a year, returns to its desk and decides what the rules mean. It is the most relatable branch. It has no press secretary, no fundraising dinners, no morning television appearances. It has a term, and the term starts, and everyone puts on the robe and goes in, the way the rest of us put on the lanyard.

"People think the Court is remote. It isn't. It is the only branch that has ever looked at a nine-month calendar and said, 'Right, then, Monday.' That is not aloofness. That is the most American emotion there is: the sigh before the first case of the term," wrote a former clerk, on background, in a tone I can only describe as tired.

There will be arguments this term about what the Court should do. Some say it should decide fewer cases. Others say it should decide more. The truth, as always, lies somewhere in a third position I just invented: the Court should decide the cases it has to decide, on a Monday, in a building that looks like a temple, while the rest of us do the same thing in a building that looks like a dentist’s office. We are all, in our own way, opening a term.

THE FIRST WEEK, LIKE ANY FIRST WEEK

  • Monday: term opens. Coffee is consumed. Robes are pressed.
  • First case: a landmark climate dispute with big implications for local government — the kind of thing nobody wants on day one.
  • The rest of the docket: religion, semi-automatic weapons, immigration, election law. The Court has clearly decided to clear the inbox before lunch.
  • Expected mood: professional, serious, and privately wishing it were Friday.

I am not a lawyer. I am a man who writes about lawyers, which is a different and, in this town, more common profession. But I recognize the look on a person’s face when they are about to do a very hard job in front of people who will be angry no matter how they do it. I see it in the mirror every time I file these columns. The Court just does it in a nicer building.

At press time, the Chief Justice was reported to have arrived early Monday, as he always does, having spent the weekend doing what every worker does before a long term: pretending not to think about it.