I despise Monday.
If I could take a knife to Monday's throat, I would and not feel bad about it. I hate Monday that much. I once had a friend question the ability to have so much hate for a weekday, and he quickly found out how serious that hatred was. The last few Mondays he's sent me a text reminding me that it was my favorite weekday - today's read: "Welcome to your favorite day of the week. Lol." Thanks for the reminder, now if you'll just give me a brief moment while I go beat the shit out of the remaining hours of Monday... k thx.
On Monday, the department I work in is ALWAYS busy. Call volumes are up, service levels are down, time off the phone is sparse, and for some reason I always end up questioning why I got out of bed that morning. Believe me, if I could sleep every Monday away, I would do it, in a heart beat. It's bad enough we only get a two day weekend and have to slave through the rest of the five days of the work week, let alone the first day back always makes me want to blow my brains out. That's right Monday, I hate you that much. (Insert boo and hiss here). It's almost like Monday enjoys being as terrible as it is. I'd go far enough to say Monday probably throws a celebration party just to see everyone suffer throughout the day. I say screw you Monday!
To make things even better, just now I noticed my bedroom door crack open. Porks and I went out to the kitchen just to check up on things, and when I walked to the laundry room, I noticed the door to my garage was cracked open. Weird, I thought, seeing as the door itself is locked. I also notice that I neglected to set the alarm like I usually do. AWESOME. Now my heart is beating a little quicker, and I decide I better check the garage. I'm also thinking, wow, I'm going to be that girl in the horror movies who everybody is screaming at not to go into that room, who ends up getting slashed to bits by the killer. SUPERFUCKINGAWESOME. But, I go outside in the garage anyway and notice all is normal except the garage door isn't locked, but the deadbolt was. Okay, even weirder. At this point, I decide the hammer is looking mighty fine so I snatch that up, and walk quickly back to my bedroom where I keep my shiv and pepper spray handy. Go back and grab those, and then proceed to do checks in each room, closet, nook, cranny, everyfuckingthing some douche bag could imagine to hide in. I've done about 10 sweeps of the house and am still alive, so at this point I take it as a good sign. I still have the hammer, shiv, and pepper spray right next to me, and the alarm is now set as well. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little freaked out still, but I've called my Aunt who lives about five minutes away and she's aware of it. I'm debating about calling the neighbor over to come do another sweep with me because I'm likely to be air stabbing at every noise I hear from here on out tonight and I'll be lucky if I get any sleep. #singlegirlprobs #homealoneprobs
Moral of the story? Next time, don't forget to set the alarm when you get home and FUCK YOU MONDAY.
P.S. If you do not hear from me tomorrow, there was some sort of creature manbearpig person who actually did sneak into my house, and I'm sure I put up a gallant fight, but sadly, did not make it. I'm sure you will all remember me as your bff and grieve the loss of me for decades to come, and probably even name a holiday after me.
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