I FUCKING HATE Mondays

By Bunny

I've been smoking since I was 13. I started with Marlboro Reds and Lucky Strike non-filters. So when I woke up this morning with a charred cigarette in my hand I wasn't surprised. Despite the familiarity I thanked the God I rejected the day I first had sex, for not sending me up in smoke.

I cleared my dry throat and cursed my day's schedule before rolling out of bed into the mess that is my life. Why can't I just stay home and watch the end of that Passolini film and smoke cigarettes on my couch and fix my bike and pay my bills and call my boyfriend and beat off to my favorite porn?

Responsibility was calling and so was my bladder. I slipped on my new favorite jeans. They reeked of last night but I didn't have time to reconsider. My stomach was more eager than my bladder so I rushed to the toilet, dropped my draws and relieved my body of last night.

I was half way through the latest Taschen catalogue (trying to get a head start on the week's work) when my phone rang. I quickly wiped my ass and lifted my pants. That's when I heard the splash. Apparently cheap Louis Vuitton knock-offs aren't shit-proof. My wallet was swimming with yesterday's tuna salad.

After cleaning off the company card, I checked my voicemail. My 12 o'clock appointment couldn't meet until 10:30 p.m. It was a sign. I wasn't meant to leave the house today. Except for coffee and the bank and the other bank and work and my 10:30 p.m. meeting.

Responsibility is a mother fucker. I showered and dripped dry because I had used my only clean towel to wipe a spilled night cap. I grabbed my keys and hopped in the truck. The bank was nice. I saw some friends, chatted with my favorite teller and caught up on a little Tyra T.V. Maybe I can recover my Monday I thought.

No such luck, not only was my car hotter than a pizza oven, but when I turned the key in the ignition all I heard was a click. No vroom – just a click. Click cliCK CLIIIIICK! The battery needed a little loving so I groped and caressed it into cooperating.

At the coffee shop I pulled into my parking space and immediately recognized someone I knew in high school. Before I could contemplate the best way to ignore them I ran into the concrete wall in front of me. Luckily it wasn't hard enough to cause any damage to the car but the damage was done. Everyone, including the shop's owner, watched my tired ass slam into that wall. FUCK!

I grabbed my coffee and drove home in record time. No one and nothing could hurt me now. I promptly jacked off and loaded a bowl. By the time I was scheduled for work I was tired and stoned. Typical work bothers seemed like small potatoes compared to the ones my wallet was swimming in earlier this morning . I ignored the usual suspects and vowed to quit eating sugar and drinking alcohol. If that bitch on Tyra can have perfect skin, so can I.

10:30 came quickly and I was off to have Margaritas with Aubrey, my rescheduled meeting from earlier in the day. She swung around I jumped in her car and we were off Polvo's. There didn't seem to be a better solution to the first and worst Monday in May.

I think God is finally getting his because we didn't make it more than a mile down the road. Aubrey's character of a car ended up wrapped around a construction post and we spent he night on the curb cursing the God that I rejected the first time I had sex. No one was hurt but no one made it to Polvo's for margaritas either. Oh well, that place is a shit hole and they serve margaritas loaded with grain liquor.