Monday's Desperation

I am Monday, a day of the week, and I am desperate for society's love. All those expectant of my arrival curse my very existence. What have I done to deserve such a fate? I do nothing other than exist, and apparently existing is all that is needed to earn the distaste of so many. What is it about me that propagates laziness or an urge to do the bare minimum? Like clockwork even the most reliable worker at least contemplates an excuse to avoid my presence. Shame on the liars who deceive their employers so that I simply become an extension of the weekend and further their own self destruction. Does no one love me? Does no one see my appearance as a point of celebration? Without question the same praise I so lack is attributed to Friday, undeniably the king of days and lord of the week. It takes only moments post his departure before the countdown is once again set for his next arrival. Bah! Friday! How envious of you I am!"

Every day of the week serves their own purpose. What is mine? Obviously the reputation for Friday is earned by the presence of parties and fantastic social events including pretty girls. Friday serves as the transition to the weekend, and thus by default Saturday takes the silver. Sunday, the ultimate day of relaxation and maxed procrastination takes an easy bronze. Wednesday marks the hump, midway through the week and two days before Friday. Tuesday is alright, him and I are cool. We are of the same fate, being of no real importance though I take all of the abuse. Somebody, somewhere, decided to screw me over when making the start of the standard work week. What kind of logic is that? Begin the first day of work on the second day of the week? Were they drunk? What did I do to deserve that? 

Perhaps I should just leave? Is that even possible? Who needs seven days anyways, six is more than enough. I mean it's not like anyone would miss me. Maybe a change of name would do like Funday or happy-go-play-day or something. Anything else! My name has become too affiliated with pain and suffering through tormenting hangovers and a feeling of prolonged loss for laziness. All I have ever wanted was to be loved like Friday or even Saturday! Even the most minimal admiration that Wednesday receives would be better than the treatment given to me by society. I just want to be enjoyed , not treated like some prison where all inhabitants await the second their time is up. 

I was once given a book on how to be happy...seriously? Give a physical book with words to an illiterate abstract concept? How am I expected to absorb the information when I lack the ability to form even the most base intellectual thought? All I have the ability to do is to feel, and all i feel is the brunt of society's disgust. Was there ever a time i was without pain? I have no idea, it has been too long and any kindness convoluted by negative affirmations. If not for this mad writer none would hear my cries and my plight. For him I am grateful, though he too has made it clear that no love is held for me. I cannot escape my fate and I suppose my place is to be hated so that others may be loved. Still, love would be nice...

I am Monday, a day of the week and I would love nothing more than the least bit of love from society.

C.R.