Listening to: Dido – No Angel
Sometimes my writer’s mind spills over into my day job. Take the following Monday-morning email exchange from this week for example:
Coworker: I need to leave a little early today to pick up my car at the Honda dealership. Lucky me, I got an irreparable flat tire yesterday and had to buy new ones.
Me: Nope, not allowed. Sorry. You must stay chained to your desk. The soul-sucking Monday god demands it.
Coworker: Suck it.
Me: It’s not ME saying this. It’s the soul-sucking Monday god. I hate that asshole.
Coworker: Fucking Mondays.
Me: I want to throw Monday out the window and watch it plunge seven stories to its bloody and gruesome death. And then I want a bus to roll over it and smear it into the pavement. THAT is how much I hate Mondays.
Coworker: That’s a lot of rage. I just want to go back to sleep and pretend Monday isn’t a real day. I’m lazy.
Me: That’s very passive of you, but I dig it.
Coworker: I think our different approaches to Mondays say a lot about us.
If I’m this vicious about a day of the week, you can imagine what I put my characters through. *evil writer laugh*