Monday and I

It's Monday. Again. Freaky, Stalking Monday. And not the loving kind that powers your pride. 

Nor the one that keeps building your self-esteem by sending you floral notes throughout your love story with it. Quite contrarily, it feeds on nefarious mind-games. The ones that bring to attention, the sins of the indulgent weekend and ghosts of unfinished tasks, to be confronted in the coming week. And of course, it's not alone. Being the shrewd social net-worker that it is, it fetches ample support from your boss, your house-help, a gluttonous electricity meter and your I'm-so-miffed-with-you personal trainer. Over the glorious hangover, one is forced to think about chewing on story ideas, submissions, manuscript polishing, grocery shopping, paying fees and bills and of course, looking for lost buttons ( consequence of the drink-and-play habit ); and if there still is some left-over time, wallowing in misery for not being able to having gotten all of it out of the way with the previous hangovers. However, there is one good thing about this stalker. Unlike most others, it doesn't creep up surreptitiously to your shoulder . Instead, it announces its arrival in a grand tableau-kind of a manner by way of the post-its disfiguring your PC's face. Strong enough reminders to acknowledge and celebrate its presence. And like an ignorant/naive person-being-stalked, if you don't happen to give it the acknowledgement that it works its "week-ass" off for, then there's no reason to sit and moan over the inflicted pain, rightfully gained. Monday has feelings too, you know. Love it. Or let it lose it.