Mondays

I feel sorry for Mondays. Most people shiver at the mere thought of it. Call it by any other name and we’d still fear it, though. This horrid day that comes to steal our freedom away. The working class and lower middle class chained to machines to make our bread. Ever chasing, never grasping.

As they say, “as soon as I make ends meet, someone moves the ends.”

What cruelty is that? We work hard, promised a reward that for most never comes. Our money goes in one pocket and out another. And they blame the working class for not knowing better. For not doing better. Make more money! Work harder! Save better! But you never taught us how. You made sure of it. Kept those insider secrets for the middle and upper class. Wouldn’t want to acknowledge and interrupt the poverty cycle, right? Wouldn’t want to oversaturate the “better” classes.

No. Silly us!

And so we go on fearing Monday. Knowing we have an infinite amount of them left. Even retirement isn’t a luxury because we’re so downtrodden once we get there that we can’t enjoy it. Not truly. And what if your pension isn’t enough? What if politicians tax it all? What if the company holding your money goes bankrupt? There’s no guarantee of that elusive freedom ever truly being yours.

Monday through Friday we cry for the weekend. The weekend comes and we’re too tired to live any sort of life. Then Monday comes too quickly and we beg for the weekend again.

What a toxic cycle. And we’re all brainwashed into thinking it’s natural. It’s right. There’s nothing right about this.

I want to love Mondays. I want to love every day of my blessed week. I want to wake each day with a smile on my face, knowing my life is mine. That there are no chains on me.

Sincerely,

S. xx