Dear Monday,
I hate you. Here’s why:
You are made up of the most deplorable garbage and rubbish that this world has to offer. You sneak up on me after a relaxing weekend like a rabid possum hiding in the trash can at night. You wake me up at an ungodly hour. Seriously, I’m not even a Christian at 5:30am and yet you demand I meet you then and there. Merciless monster.
You are a reminder of everything I don’t like to think about: how much I need to get done this week, time is fleeting, I am mortal, the polar bears are losing their ice boats, the Loch Ness Monster is dead, John Lennon is dead, I have a hang nail, ECT.
Garfield hates you. That cynical cat taught me everything I know about life. Therefore, I hate you too. (Incidentally, I love lasagna.)
Traffic is always the worst when you come around. I run into more walls when you’re around. I’m always groggy and mad at the world when you’re hovering over me. I don’t have a case of the Mondays. I have a case of the “stupidest day ever”. It’s contagious.
Monday, you are terrible to me. But you know what?
You are the day that the LORD has made. I will rejoice and be glad in you. Because this is the day, this is the day that the LORD has made.
I rejoice today for his sake. Not for yours, Monday.
It’s all true. I used to look for redeeming qualities in Mondays. Remember when Buffy was on TV Monday evenings? Well, Buffy moved to Tuesdays and now it’s not on anymore. What else ya’ got, Monday?