Yippee I get to go back to work.
I wonder what I left in the middle last Friday that I didn't want to deal with anymore. I wonder if it's somebody's birthday and there will be lots of food by the coffee machine. I'll probably just gab with someone for a while because I won't be able to force that yoke over my shoulders as soon as I get there.
Somebody will ask me what I did all weekend. What the hell did I do anyway? I guess that means I'll have to remember what restaurants I went to. Let's see, there was Tinga in Westfield, and some damn thing on Saturday when my wife went with her girlfriend to the track. Oh yeah, KFC.
All right, I'm ready, bring it on. I got through hundreds of Mondays in the past, so I'll probably get through this one.
Reminds me of a song. Two songs. I Don't Like Mondays. Monday Monday. The first one about some crazed kid who must have been on prescription drugs and ended up shooting up the school. The other saying that a girlfriend or wife left on a Monday, so now he feels like shit every Monday as a result.
Monday doesn't get very good press, does it.



