It's a peculiar thing, Monday... an innocent day like any other, but how it manages to grip your insides and fill you with dread as the weekend comes to a close is like a riddle that has no answer. I'd already written once about a particularly bad Monday morning, but I feel like today is sort of worthy of another post.
So like last time, today my bad Monday started out with another ominous dream. In my dream, I had waken up in the middle of the night and for some reason couldn't fall back asleep. There was a faint light poking through the curtains, from which I wasn't sure whether it was the street lamps or the rising sun, but I figured it was probably morning anyway and decided I would just get ready for work early. On my way to the bathroom, I checked my phone for the time, which read 3:50. In the morning. Half annoyed, half elated at the prospect of three extra hours of sleep, I headed back into the covers.
And as soon as my head hit my pillow, my actual alarm went off. Fuck. So even if I did actually wake up at 7, I felt 3 hours deprived of sleep and had to live with it all day.
Work was busier than usual, because it was Monday. Then I learned my brother had lost the digital camera I lent him over the weekend, the one I had purchased just a year ago. I nearly fell asleep at Chinese class in the evening, had weird headaches all day, and when I finally got home after what felt like an eternity, I glanced at my bloated fat belly and realized that since I had vomited spectacularly on Friday morning, I hadn't pooped for three days straight.
I just need to sleep. Now.
So like last time, today my bad Monday started out with another ominous dream. In my dream, I had waken up in the middle of the night and for some reason couldn't fall back asleep. There was a faint light poking through the curtains, from which I wasn't sure whether it was the street lamps or the rising sun, but I figured it was probably morning anyway and decided I would just get ready for work early. On my way to the bathroom, I checked my phone for the time, which read 3:50. In the morning. Half annoyed, half elated at the prospect of three extra hours of sleep, I headed back into the covers.
And as soon as my head hit my pillow, my actual alarm went off. Fuck. So even if I did actually wake up at 7, I felt 3 hours deprived of sleep and had to live with it all day.
Work was busier than usual, because it was Monday. Then I learned my brother had lost the digital camera I lent him over the weekend, the one I had purchased just a year ago. I nearly fell asleep at Chinese class in the evening, had weird headaches all day, and when I finally got home after what felt like an eternity, I glanced at my bloated fat belly and realized that since I had vomited spectacularly on Friday morning, I hadn't pooped for three days straight.
I just need to sleep. Now.
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