Monday morning - 7 (freaking) a.m.
I greet people in the morning
- a mumbled greeting, the odd polite inquiry -
because it’s what you do when you see colleagues in the hallways.
I do it because I must, but I really (really really) don’t care.
It’s Monday morning.
There’s not a lot I care about on Monday morning.
Monday morning I spend mostly in denial.
This is not my life.
But I say it any way,
because it’s what you do so people don’t think you’re anti-social.
(Even when you are.)
(Especially when you are.)
“Morning Mr. Josepths.”
(No one ever notices that I do not label the morning “good.”
I cannot bring myself to that level of personal hypocrisy.
Well, not before my first cuppa.)
“Good morning, Ms. McTeague. How was your week-end?”
He’s bright and cheery.
Oh, I think I rather hate him.
I didn’t realize that until just now.
I sigh.
“It might have been good, but someone seems to have stolen it.
We were just here and now we’re just here again.
I don’t know how that happened, but the whole week-end vanished.”
For a mostly insincere person, I’m surprisingly not insincere at this moment.
“I know what you mean.
It was Friday.
There was a couch and a television
and !poof!
instant Monday morning.
I’m thinking a time vortex of some sort must have been involved.
No other explanation.”
Okay, I’m revising my opinion.
Mr. Josepths may seem like a chirpy morning person,
but the man has dark tendencies not widely recognized.
I may actually be in love.
Loading comments...