Isn’t it just like a Monday? To have a crystal clear layer of ice on the gravel, so clean and transparent, unlike the vanilla syrup you tried to make, that your brain doesn’t register it until the hot coffee from your mug starts to melt a circle through it?
Isn’t it just like a Monday to bring you the thought, “This is a good place to stay for eternity” as you lay amongst the broken pieces of clay of your favorite mug?
It isn’t like a Tuesday to find you resting ou the door late because those are the days you stay home to work. But being late is just like a Monday.
And as you lie there contemplating the cold, gray sky and start to notice the jagged edges of the little black rocks beneath your back, the buzzing of the never-far-from-you phone breaks off the pleasant thought of lying there for a hundred years.
But isn’t it just like a Monday for the voice of your co-worker to croak past the now broken screen that you curse under your breath. “…..to icy. Just stay home today.”