It’s Monday and I watch my ceiling plant droop from over or underwatering. Or is it root rot? The room temperature? Sunlight? Too much? Too little?
They said it was low maintenance and still I watch it die before me. What can I say?
It’s Monday and the week has begun.
One week down just two more to go until my job physically reopens.
As exciting as that may sound, I dread the future work that has to be done but anticipate the increase of funds entering my account. Especially to help pay off some crappy hospital bill I have.
If you happen to stumble upon this post and are feeling a bit generous, I started a GoFundMe to help pay it off. Donate as much as you’d like. It really helps.
I’ve been thinking about writing more while watching everyone and their mom do it around me. I listen to those who do it and try to read between their lines. How can someone be so good? How can I be that good?
I wonder how I even got into this mess in the first place.
I see the want for boring writers and the list goes on and on as I scroll through the end of night—it never ends.
I’m thinking of future projects and not letting current circumstances bother me—or push me into corners I don’t really want to be in.
It’s Monday and I pray for something more.
It’s cloudy today but I know the sun will come. It usually does.
And when it doesn’t, we stay inside. Some cry for better days while I wait for at least one drop of rain to collect.
It’s Monday and it’s grey and my cat howls to go outside while I crave for the opposite—while I pray for rain.
I pray for rain and for My Love’s tears to stop some day and all his pain he can keep within me because I’ve built my body of steel to endure it all. How else would I get through?
And maybe he’ll build the same but until then I hold his head on my shoulder because that’s where I want it even when he doesn’t need me anymore.
It’s Monday and there’s really not much to it.
What else could I say?