It’s that day. The end of nigh as I like to call it.
The final chapter of the perilous week, but unlike usual, the perilous week just wraps over, starts from scratch like someone lifted the needle of the record and put it back to the edge to replay.
As if I’m in Groundhog Day, minus the hilarity of Bill Murray, I am the hilarity.
It’s like I’m in some weird sci-fi episode, a bottle episode to save the money on production a bit and I’m replaying the same scenes over and over, is that right Data, Worf?
A Sunday, or I like to call it a S-Monday.
It’s that moment in the day, not the start, nor necessarily the middle or the end, but instead somewhere in-between. Somewhere you get to the point and go, shit, it’s Monday tomorrow.
It’s that feeling you get when you know that’s it, it’s the end of the week. You may still have a few hours left here and there but essentially, you’re done, you’re out.
Sometimes I just think what if that was really it. As I peer out the window pondering if the supposed meteor hurtling towards Earth is due today in the hopes I read that article correctly.
Maybe, just maybe I have a murderer lurking in my apartment, in the hopes they won’t ponder taking me out of this life and end this S-Monday feeling right now?
Alas, I am thwarted by the notion and none of the above happens and instead, I sit here, with that S-Monday feeling, being helpless and just wishing it was all over for the week ahead.
God damn, I do hate Monday’s.