It's Monday. The weekend with it's cocktail umbrellas is over and I find myself back in my old weekday routine. A lot happened this weekend, nothing that matters in the long run though because the weekends come and go and leave little behind. During the week I am a sane responsible individual with a vision and plans to conquer the world. The weekends on the other hand are all like a big bad acid trip where I float on a bright coloured cloud, sprinkling purple fairy dust and giving people the finger. Time and space don't exist during the weekends. Neither does the act of thinking. I open my mouth and the words run from it like a colossal waterfall and the brain never catches up with them. Not until Sunday that is, when the moral hangovers make themselves a cozy little home in my mind. Like an ostrich the only thing I can do to escape them is to stick my head in the sand and hope they go away. Which they do, most of the time.
It's Monday. I sit in my dead end job and watch life pass me by. One hundred million questions run through the thought highway in my head and I have answers to none of them. I pinch myself to see whether this is really it or if I'm stuck in a recurring nightmare. There is a scratch in my life's vinyl and I'm in a loop. It's Monday. Again.