“So. Monday. We meet again. We will never be friends—but maybe we can move past our mutual enmity toward a more-positive partnership.”
When the light streaks through the windows and crosses over your face you groan, your muscles protest and you throw an arm over your eyes. Praying for a few more moments of peace you receive nothing but disappointment as the alarm begins to ring next to your ear.
Monday. Work. Reality.
The weekend is like a tantalising dream of what life could be like without work or weekdays. Relaxation, chilling with friends or going out and exploring the world around you. When you wake up on a Monday morning though, the past couple of days is nothing more than a distant memory and already you have a ‘weekday face’.
A weekday face; your lips can’t curl up into a smile as it’s far too early and the only other people who are up are the crazy joggers, cyclists or people who have no job and have’t discovered their beds yet, still in the clothes they wore to latest club last night (you secretly envy these party people). You have creases on your forehead where you have to squint at everything as those extra hours of sleep don’t exist anymore, not until Saturday, which is so far away….
Brushing your teeth you try, and fail, to keep all the toothpaste in your mouth, not noticing or caring when that stray blob falls onto your shirt. You stumble around as though you’ve lost all ability to walk normally, at least until your body has decided it is in fact awake and not still lying beneath those comfortable, warm covers that are still calling to you. This always leads to a few inevitable questions:
In your head you ask yourself can ‘I have another ten minutes in bed?’, ‘Can I get away with phoning in sick today?’ Before deciding you need the money…and you’ve already feigned illness two monday’s ago. You move onto the next step, the juice to put in your engine.
Fuel: Pouring a cup of coffee (the only liquid that allows you to keep moving, to put one sluggish foot in front of the other) you stare at the steam as it whirls upwards in a playful dance. Your eyes drooping back into slumber you quickly take a gulp as the sun begins to rise beyond the kitchen window. Burning your tongue in your haste, cursing as you move forwards with a routine that has been sound for years.
Clumsily putting shoes on your feet (usually on the wrong ones to begin to with), you glance at the clock and realise that your running late and those extra few minutes with the alarm on snooze were not the best idea. You say I won’t do that next time (but you will).
Heading out the door into the crisp morning air you’re already counting down the days till the weekend as your breath curls in front of your, creating small clouds of mist.