Don’t you just hate it when monday comes around and you realise that you have to face another week of the same unchanging sameness? Same boring tasks, same long week, sitting at the same desk behind that cretin who keeps farting downwind from you, so that the office ventilation system can convey the processed residue of last night’s rich dinner straight up your olfactory passages?
Yes, Monday rules!!!
I had a good weekend. Not quite the one I had hoped for, in terms of being able to veg out in front of the tv, and getting some much needed rest, but I managed to sleep a little (insomnia was on hiatus, thank God).
I went to an open mic event on Saturday night. It was simply amazing. It was one of those nights that were so powerful, the poetry and words so good, that it made me want to go home and burn my own notebook and the rather bland stuff that I fear it contains. I met Mahogany Brown. Now that woman is a powerful writer and performer. Something about the yankee accent and attitude give her delivery a power that is a life of its own.
I have a little dream in my head. A fantasy that I would love to see come true one of these days. I’d love to wake up on a Monday morning with nothing to do other than sit down and get a massage from a beautiful masseuse while sipping a glass of something sweet. At 9am. On a Monday morning. Preferably from the balcony of a penthouse suite, from where I can take in the views of people rushing to work. Soft gentle hands kneading my muscles and skin, cold glass of Cointreau and orange juice, Maxwell on the stereo, fresh fruit in my mouth, bikini-clad hottie making it all come together.
I’d love to be drunk on a Monday morning. Not the drunkenness of bums, but the content tipsiness of a successful man who has decided to take time off to enjoy himself. Now you know that no one can do indolent like the rich. Any other person would be faking it, sitting mock-pretty with a false air of contentment, under which a volcano of worry would be bubbling, because only a self-deluding mind would forget that someone would have to pay for that morning’s bit of leisure, that he could not really afford to take. But the rich? Lifestyles….