Sometimes it is just another Sunday. You get up in the morning and you are busy thinking of ways to be lazy for the rest of the day. And in the evening when you call it a day, you are busy and really busy. You are one among that tried and frustrated lot who is clever enough to know that in a few hours you get Monday, that would steal all the pleasantries of your “busy- being- lazy” self enjoying Sunday.
Monday is just another day. It is a green grinning jealous evil, panting to bite your bum red. With all my Monday bashing I keep my adamant desires burning – do not even try to read in between the lines- desires to curse the Monday for the whole day. But you never know why you accept Monday with this sort of sick prejudice. It’s all work and no play.
Tuesday is just another day that comes with its own set of maladies. It takes the tumescence out of the freshness that somehow crept into Monday from the engorged Sunday. You long for another Sunday. Also you get amazed at the hard work that you do all through the long Monday just to get rid of one pretty day Monday. Somebody should have made you get rid of all six days. But that is the silly paradox of Tuesday. You remain pale.
Wednesday is just another day. I would rather call this day the day of acceptance. You accept the reality that you are heading into the middle of the week and there is nothing that you could do to help yourself. I mean you could hardly punch your way through the days into Sunday. Love thy own self. Love thy work.
Thursday is just another day. Where you are somehow tired physically, but your mind gets raunchy. Your fingers are overactive and you never mind tiring through the day. Now you are somewhere where you know that you are through the better part of the week. This day makes you see crimson in everything. You blush a lot and sometimes make others blush. You have people calling you naughty.
Friday is just another day. Where you are busy, but the clock seems slow. You look tired but you somehow keep the springs under your feet. You admire yourself but still you don’t know why you choose one of your flauntier shirts. You caress your hairs but you never go any near to the self inflicted orgasm. Instead some way you fake them for yourself to at least remain in the notion of happiness.
Saturday is just another dayhh! Your muscles are sore but the springs under your legs are stout. Your shirt is tout, you feel sleek. In some mysterious ways you remember all the good things, life seems more lovable and living seems more likable. You welcome everyone with a pout. You find that your shoulders and your waist is more into singing. You wear your smile whole through the day. You nod your head to everything and anything that you come across.
And then you enjoy the evening to get into sleep. When you wake up- you get Sunday which is just another day..
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