I’ve got the Monday morning blues.
On Monday morning, my bed is a cradle of happy, dreamy warmth.
My shower is a warm rain forest of pleasant smells and sensations.
My bathroom is a steaming, therapeutic sauna.
My moisturizer is a luxuriant balm.
—
On Monday morning, my closet is a frustrating turmoil of disturbing options.
The good bras are nowhere to be found.
Everything I put on feels constrictive.
My pants feel like incarceration.
I shudder as I zip them up.
I curl my lip as I imprison my whimpering summer toes in melancholy loafers.
—
On Monday morning, the coffee is weak, no matter the strain.
I stare blankly into the refrigerator, hoping lunch will make itself.
It doesn’t.
I am — I think — justifiably aggravated.
—
On Monday morning, my home claws at my legs like a cat as I leave it behind.
I put my car into reverse and pull out of the driveway, and I wish it would break down.
Maybe the tires will go flat.
All four at once.
I’d be good with that.
—
On Monday morning, I wish for torrential hailstorms.
I envision roads filled with absurd amounts of ice that would take hours or days to clear.
Any of Mother Nature’s obstacles would be appropriate; be it lightning, thunder, a hurricane, or a typhoon.
—
On Monday morning, my car looks heartbroken as I leave it alone in the parking lot.
We could have adventures today, its disappointed headlights say. Don’t go.
My legs protest as I move toward my office door.
They’re molasses.
They’re sludge.
They’re lead.
—
On Monday morning, I am a grumbling ogre with four letter words slinging their way behind my puffy eyes.
Anyone who looks perky gets the stink eye.
I slump to my desk chair and open my email.
Ready or not, my Monday has begun.
Esther Hofknecht Curtis, MSM-HCA is an independent writer living in Dover, Delaware. Follow her on Facebook — go to https://www.facebook.com/TheArdentReader19977/
