I don’t even know why I bother asking myself that everyday; every morning is greeted with the same, rhetorical question. It may seem like I’m whining, and you probably think I’m sorta lame especially since you just met me. But come on, everyone despises this one morning. This is the morning that causes dread within everyone, the type of dread that is so relatable that when shared, a person’s entire week could turn rotten just from the thought. If you haven’t caught on yet despite the topic being insanely simple to decipher, let me clarify a bit.
I’m talking about Monday--or Masochist-day. Only individuals who particularly enjoy the thought of self-harm and torture could ever favor today. It’s kinda like if a cactus wasn’t just a stationary plant, but rather infused with a weekly twenty-four hour period that constantly pricks your skin with metaphorical thorns and needles. It’s a seriously despicable topic, I’m currently experiencing resentment from myself for dwelling for even mentioning something so horrible.
However, let’s switch from the topic of Mondays for now. Instead, I’ll provide a more proper introduction for my irritable persona. My name’s Joe, but my full name is Joe Guy (lame, I know). I work at some generic office building. You know, the ones you often see in shows or commercials with the dull cubicles you look at and say, “that isn’t ever going to be me,” or “you must seriously hate yourself to work there,” well, that’s what I said too, and I’m objectively conforming towards those two opinions. Because of it, a never-ending sense of regret is consistently present within me, and here’s a friendly reminder: Don’t attempt to proceed with promises that are seemingly false, and I don’t mean to be a pessimist, but they’ll definitely crash and burn in due time.
Anyway, looks as if I’m finally rising up from bed, I was preoccupied with working my way out during my earlier ramblings, which is peculiar since I was simultaneously preoccupied with the aforementioned ramblings. Though, it isn’t that strange, I’m probably just skilled at multitasking. Although, apparently multitasking isn’t real according to the mouths of certain individuals who dislike the ability to commit to multiple subjects at once. I personally know someone who believes the trait is an excuse to ‘wuss out’ on specific duties and tasks. That person’s opinion is kinda irrelevant though, so is the subject of multi-tasking.
Why did I bring it up if my claim is that it’s ‘irrelevant’ or ‘pointless’ information? Well it’s simple, going off on miscellaneous topics is something I’m a professional at. That’s right, I’m a master at unnecessary ranting, needless lectures, and unimportant speeches, meaning I possess the most humdrum and stale characteristic that, according to my friend Tom, is my most endearing attribute. What a load of bull.
But whatever, here’s the morning plan:
Drink. Morning. Coffee.
No really, that’s all there is to my break day, isn’t it wonderful? I believe that a day is always made with a soothing and fiery container of delectable, liquified beans that’ll keep you running all day. I’m talking about that cup that always makes the morning shine, that always makes the sun’s repulsively bright lights bearable, that cup that grants you permission to not give a single damn about your neighbor’s horribly disfigured face (not that that’s important). I’m talking about that early morning Cup of Joe. You could even mentally capitalize that ‘j’ if you’d wish to create a horrid pun regarding me that you probably won’t regret.
Speaking of morning coffee, I do believe it’s just about time for that luscious and heavenly hot pint of java. Ah, I can see myself now: Leaning my rear against the kitchen counter, one hand grasping the smooth edge of the marble counter-top, the other steadily gripping the mug’s somewhat jagged and worn handle. With that setting, I’d soon be taking a few drawn-out sips, slowly savoring that gorgeous magma. It’s like, a mini cup of bearable hell; a hell that’s actually enjoyable and only slightly deadly to the soul. Just thinking about it is really urging me on. Standing around is just making me crave that substance more and more, each second consuming bits of my already fragile integrity. Just one mug could make my entire day within an instant, remedying this groggy and insecure attitude. I need to finally get me some, gather that fascinating hot stuff and digest it all. Oh sweet and precious coffee, here I come to obtain your contents and overheat my scrawny features.
Well, seems as if me seeking salvageable remains of Monday was expectantly futile. You may believe that to be an exaggeration, but trust me, that is quite far from being exaggerated. I’m not exactly the master of hyperbole, everything I state is quite truthful and honest to what I’m currently undergoing. I just checked and I’m completely out of everything; powdered coffee, coffee beans, I can’t even be dissatisfied with the taste of any substitutes, they’ve all vanished.
My supply has run dry and with it, my will to thrive.