It is my observation that weekends are wasted on us mere mortals. We spend Friday night celebrating the arrival of the weekend, then the whole of Saturday recovering from Friday’s indulgences. Sunday is a special day, reserved for sulking about the fact that it’s the last day of the weekend, that tomorrow is Monday and that the slavery within society commences once again.
Then, when Monday morning arrives I feel the hate. I’m not sure if I’m the hated or just an innocent bystander, but it’s there. Hate for work, hate for school and hate for early mornings. The only one not hating is my smiley 2 month old treasure.
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