Dear Monday
As a working adult, Monday is just the same as any other day, dreadful. The thought that occupies my mind the night before is unbarring. Hearing the horrid scream echo through the speakers of my cell phone, notifying me that it is time to start another day with the same routine yet again. Sigh. When will this be over?, I think to myself. When can I just get one day out of the week where I can only worry about myself, abandon the needs of others, be relieved of the daily obligations of homework, and ignore a schedule. Just, when can I be free?!

It’s 5:30 am and my phone is alarming me. “Five more minutes, please! I just got to sleep. I don’t think I’m going to work, I’m much too tired”, goes the thoughts that cloud my mind. It’s freezing in my room. I’m hoping that it didn’t snow overnight. Meanwhile, my snooze button has apparently failed me, blaring every, what seems to be, two minutes. “DAMNIT, I’m up!” I arise, sluggish. I stumble over clothes from the night before to turn on the lights. Here we go again. First things first, I walk to the bathroom, barefoot, and the tiles under me are artic, cramping my feet. I ignore the sensation, of course, and continue on with the start of my day. Great! Someone made a mess of the toothpaste, AGAIN. After finishing brushing my teeth, I run the shower water, run back to my room to undress, and grab a towel. By this time, I have realized that my comatose ways have gotten me backed up on time. “Ugh!, I complain to myself. Jumping into the shower, the water is still cold and my body begins to have spasms of pain. The water continues to warm while I indulge in such hot bliss, discounting all sense of time. After fully lathering my body with soap, rinsing and repeating, I step out of the shower. The cold air attacks my body once again. I scurry back to my room to dress, noticing that I have spent far too much time in the bathroom. I overlook the fact that I need to lotion up and put on the first articles of clothing that appears to match. It’s 6:40 am, time to hit the road.
I pray that there is not much traffic out. Speeding down the road en-route to Route 72, I keep an eye out for police, for I have received far too many speeding tickets down this same road. Zipping and zooming through traffic, committing all types of traffic violations, I make my destination to the highway. It’s pretty much a straight run from here. The roads are wet, so I encounter many “Sunday drivers” who are afraid to do the speed limit. I see an opening as to where I can go around the person ahead of me. I ram the peddle, switch lanes and switch lanes again, back to the fast lane. They’re mad, I laugh to myself. A few miles later, Route 72 is a parking lot. I now have twenty minutes to get to work, which is farther in time if I actually sat here and waited for traffic to clear up, or even considered doing the speed limit. I’d rather take the shoulder, so the shoulder it is. There’s a tractor ahead that I can get in front of, so I take my chances once again, ram the peddle and make a way for my tiny car. Arriving five minutes late, it’s 7:25, I made it!
“Hi Ms. Whitley, Good morning”, the students of Balwawa Middle School call out to me as I enter the corridors of the school. “Morning”, I reply back as putrid aromas of nearby mushroom harvests enter my nostrils. The school is huge, brown in color with an odd polygon like shape. I make way to the main office where I go to sign in, continue up the steps to my grandmother’s classroom, who is a teacher at the school as well, drop my belongings, and continue on to find the student with whom I do a one-on-one with. Typically, he’s not where he is supposed to be, causing a ruckus, and today, as any other, he’s roaming the hallways bullying other students. “Come on Johnny, stop, you’re going to be late”, is what I tell the troubled teen. Eventually, after picking on everyone Johnny comes across, including teachers and administration, we breeze into his first period class, math.
“All I want for my birthday is a big booty hoe” this child blurts out in the middle of class. “Yo, chill out!” he does not listen, I complain to myself. Here, this young man, who has not yet begun his life, has a lengthy record and still continues to exude disrespect and a lack of consideration for authority. And I’m not talking a musical record either!