I hate Monday. I’m sorry, Monday, but it’s your own damned fault. On Mondays there are more heart attacks than any other day of the week. Clearly, Monday is a stressor that it would be better to avoid altogether. Sure, there’s speculation that alcohol consumption may contribute to causality of the heart attacks. But I call Monday out. Monday, you suck.
Ending the weekend, having to go back to shitty jobs, repeating the cycle of hopelessness and thankless grief, it’s a wonder more of our hearts don’t just give up. Fuck you, Monday. I want an extra day that offers rest and peace and hope. Many of us don’t even really get that on the weekends any more, hence the alcohol consumption. Because if you can’t get rest and peace and hope, pretend like hell. Alcohol is a central nervous system depressant, offering an illusion of happiness to us. At least, the illusion of stress relief.
Monday is almost over. In 10 minutes the whole thing is over. But before it goes away and I go into the insomnia of Tuesday morning, let me just say again, fuck you, Monday.
According to recent data, Wednesday is the most common day for suicides, so Wednesday, fuck you, too. I hate you for friends who decide to quit and I don’t even care if they quit on Wednesdays. I hate you almost as much as Monday, but you’re not getting me, you grim fucker.
I love the next song, in spite of myself. Or maybe it’s just that voice. Maybe it’s the faith and hope of the stories the song tells, I hope those stories are actually true. Someone do the research, I can’t. I want it to be true.
I mean, that voice, these lyrics:
What I hate most of all is death in general. Fight that shit, people. Let’s all fight it together.
It’s Tuesday morning, I’m hanging between possibly the two most grim days of the week, with stress ahead of me today that probably exceeds the stress of Monday morning. Fuck. But damn it, I’m going to fight.
The show must go on.