Mondays.

Transitional days.

Adjustments required.

Time to play the role.

Hey, we just might be the greatest actors of all time.

Friday night, the masks come off.

Saturday, we don’t even bother with the makeup.

Sundays, we peel the last remaining layers that identified us with the working world.

And then, it is Monday morning.

Grumbling, we reluctantly put on the “other” face.

Don’t talk to me until I can identify with my working role.

Here I am, at my desk.

Did I remember to put on a pair of pants?

Do I remember my passwords?

What happened on Friday?

Are there issues I need to address?

As the day unfolds, so does the mask.

By 5pm, I am the joker.

Oh wait, I am the walrus, Koo Koo Kachoo.

At home, at last.

Mask changes.

What’s for supper?

Did you change the kitty litter?

Who are you ?  Who? Who?

Pajamas, please.

I am the egg man.

Oh the masks we wear.

Oh how colorful they are.

Will the real Chicken Butt please stand up?

Reality enters into the equation.

We all wear masks.

Most of us don’t know who we are.

But I do.

I am the egg man.

I am the walrus.

Koo Koo Kachoo.

Or am I?

Wolf

 

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