Mondays

Mondays were the worst. I would walk into school after what seemed like an endless bus ride with headphones jammed so far into my ears that the alarming blasts of hardcore screamo music seemed to reach out and bang on my eardrums. And if any punks got in my way, I would turn up the music so loud that they could hear it and give them my most intimidating glare. Eyes squinted, brows pushed down to wrinkly lines, nostrils flaring with each hard breath and my lips in a clench tight enough to hold in my underlying roars. I was a beast. I would walk to my locker then, number 1133, and take a deep breath, content with the fact that if I turned my head around I would see my fiery footprints. I always tried to conceal my anger, my utter frustration towards everyone and everything, but some people just...infuriated me. And the thing is, there was nothing they could do about it. Whether it was their voice, their personality, or that absolutely revolting puppy-dog omen that they just radiated like a space heater, some people just got to me. And if the present day happened to be one of those days, well I would just implode. To those people who reminded me of a kitten just begging to be run over by a Hummer, I would be a hippy-happy ball of sunshine. But if they bothered to look into my eyes, they would see them flashing with bloodred hatred. I would open my locker, get out my things, and slam it. That'll teach those kittens to stay out of the way of my Hummer.



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Tuesdays I would walk into school and laugh. Sure, the morning grumpiness would have footholds in me from time to time, but I managed to get through the day without silently wishing death on someone. Completely different from Mondays, Tuesdays seemed to make me feel happy and accomplished. Nothing like how I would feel any other day of the week, because Wednesdays...well lets just say Hump Day and I don't really click very well. If I know myself at all, which I sincerely hope that after 13 years I can say I do, I will waltz in with a smile on my face and then somebody will just go ahead and do something that will make me itch. I won't want to say something because, remember? It's Wednesday! I'm supposed to be all happy right? Well they will say it once and walk away, and I will start cooling off and will go into my locker and get my stuff and chat a bit, but then like a horde of frenzied lice they will come back and make me itch more. And then leave. And return later and the itch will come with it. Itch. Itch. Itch. Itch. Itch. Itch. And then I will be just about ready to punch them in the face and stomp on their insides. But I will contain it, and with the effort of self-restraint in action I will be dead inside.



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Thursdays are always exciting. I look forward all day to my piano lessons and gymnastics with my best friend. The looking-forward will blot out all the angry bits and pieces of the day, and I will sort of shrug everything off. Because I know no matter what my best friend and I will have a nice talking session in the car going to gymnastics and anything that bothered me that day will come out and she will make me feel better. Friday is just like a follow-up of Thursday. Things resolve themselves, or in some cases, don't. And then I will just let it roll off my shoulders because ya know what? It's Friday. And I think I want to have a sleepover. Or go to a concert. Or throw a party. Or conquer the world. So to whoever thinks they can rain on my parade, I will personally beat you with a pole if you even try. But I'll wait till Monday, because remember...Friday is my happy day.





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