It's just that it's Monday

Damn, man, it's Monday and I'm fried. It's fuckin' daylight savings time so I'm waking up to go to work when it's still dark. But, shit, I'm doing okay. It's just that it's Monday and I hate Mondays. Usually I get through it by denial.

Denial? I'm not sure I get what you mean, farmboy.

That's probably not the right word for it. What I'm talking about is just not admitting that Monday is terrible or that it's even here, you know. Move straight on to Tuesday, even though the only good thing about Tuesday is that it's not Monday.

Anyway, I'm not at work, as you can tell. I'm at home and I've got some weed and some leftover pizza. I've got a guitar and a computer and the radio and podcasts and…well, I've got the whole fuckin' world at my fuckin' fingertips. I ain't really hurting for nothing tonight.

Maybe you should be grateful?

Oh, I am, I am. I'm saying I hate Mondays but, you know, Monday at home really isn't Monday. It's not really Monday unless you go to that soul-sucking job that you have to go to so you can keep the rest of your life from going under.

Well, I guess that's one way of looking at it…

I'm serious. Let's say I win the lottery -- sorry, but quitting my job is on the shortlist of what I'll be doing.

I'm hesitant to say anything anymore about stuff like this, because people are so "You don't hate your job" and "What about the children?" and "You should be thankful for your job"…which I am, by the way. It's just that I don't need any fuckin' condescending Pollyanna asshole telling me about how I'm supposed to feel. I fuckin' hate those people, man, they think they're better than everybody else when they're really just fuckin' assholes.

You sound angry, farmboy.

Well, I don't want to be. Because I'm at home and it ain't Monday no more as far as I'm concerned. Now where's my lighter? I'm ready for marijuana, man. Right now.