Mondays are such a bitch.
Did I say that?
It really isn’t Monday that is a bitch.
It is me.
I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch oh the bitch is back.
Stone cold sober, as a matter of fact.
That is the root cause of the hatred of Monday.
Stone cold sober.
When spending the last 2 days of debauchery as I marched to the tune of a different piper… or was it a drummer… a reluctant bar fly flew out of bed at 530am, this morning, looking for mr goodbar. Ok, so that was 25 years ago. Looking for a cup of java. And doggone it, I was out of Star Bucks.
And so it began, with a cup of Folgers and a paper cup.
And from that moment on, I was in desperate need of an apple cinnamon bun from the Emmaus bakery, or at least, a whole pecan pie from Perkins….. with whipped cream.
Sometimes we need sweetness in our lives.
For some,. they just look to Paul, aka Chewy, the perfect angel, to provide that sugar.
For others, they prefer the bitter sweetness of the Beaver, who will rip you a new one as she breaks into a wide smile.
And then, there are those, who prefer to hang out with Pat, in the back room, trading germs and condolences, as they strive to feel as lousy as they can…. and then slink back to their cubes, and take a stiff drink from the bottle they are hiding in their desk drawer.
Of course, there are those who will, as Mr Dylan once sang:
They’ll stone ya just a-like they said they would
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to go home
Then they’ll stone ya when you’re there all alone