Oh, how Mondays do suck. They suck the hairy, red-hot ass of Satan himself. Mondays are especially cruel and hideous after one has had a most enjoyable weekend. Six AM comes unexpectedly and cruelly in the form of a shrieking cell-phone alarm clock, pouncing upon one's weary, massively-relaxed, post-coital body and hacking away at it with a thousand machetes. Oh, cruel, cruel Monday Bitch. You crotch. You fucking twat.
It especially sucks to be stunned awake on a Monday morning when you've been nightmaring all the livelong eve. All night I had haunting and anxiety-ridden dreams about high school. It was my birthday, see. And all of my friends decided to ignore me. They came into the classroom (where we were dissecting frogs and deciding on prom themes) and nobody would talk to me. I had purchased a large bouquet of mylar balloons for myself and sat at my desk wondering what I'd done wrong. I felt massively alone, but thought, 'fuck those bitches', and I decided to walk through my school, knowing full well that I'd get demerits for skipping class and not being in my uniform (which was, oddly, blue sparkly unitards like they wear in the Ice Capades). I got lost, as I often do in these dreams, and ending up outside, ankle-deep in snow, wearing only rubber flipflops. I slipped and got yelled at by the woman we used to call "The Ghost Nun", because she was too old to teach classes anymore but still lived in the convent on the 4th floor of our school, and would oft be seen in the hallways wearing a flimsy mumu and slippers, 'dusting' things and giving us the stink eye through milky, cateract-covered irises.
I woke up and for a second felt panicked, sad, and terribly alone.
But you know what? I wasn't alone.
And that was really nice.
The Blizzard of '17
3 days ago