This morning I wake up at extremely early hours with the mantra that Monday will good a good day.
In fact, it’s going so well, that when I wake up, today’s mental soundtrack is “Manic Monday” by the Bangles:
Six o’clock already
I was just in the middle of a dream
I was kissin’ Valentino
By a crystal blue Italian stream
But I can’t be late
‘Cause then I guess I just won’t get paid
These are the days
When you wish your bed was already made…
It’s been stuck in my head for a couple of hours.
My sister’s barbies used to dance to this song at their high school prom, while my G.I. Joe’s would plot their untimely death, oddly similar to the Moldovian wedding massacre from Dynasty, circa 1985.
Should I have been watching Soap Operas at age 5?
Why do people think it’s not ok for violence to resolve most conflicts?
I mull this over.
I don’t see a correlation.
The Bangles made the most of their Monday morning, so I should too.
I relate deeply to The Bangles on their Manic Monday mircacle.
I make a note that playing with Shopkins yesterday has my alliteration at an astronomical high. Awesome? Annoying? Appropriate?
All of the above.
Silly, selfish Shopkins.
Their day started at 6 o clock.
Mine was about 3:53.
They were kissing Valentino.
I hope to be kissing bacon or ham.
They travel past a crystal blue Italian stream.
I travel past the contaminated, opaque waters of Lake Ontario. Likely crystallized by anti-pollutants.
They can’t be late, or else they worry about getting paid.
I can’t be late because then I can’t tamper with my coworkers’ cubicles before they arrive.
It’s ok, they don’t read my blog.
Thanks for your concern.
Moving along, they wish their bed was already made.
I wish my bed was in Maui, Miami, Madrid or Moldova.
I wonder who cleaned up after that wedding.
My G.I. Joe’s also didn’t worry about that, either.
Armed with purpose (or perhaps an urge to get this day over with) I saunter up the stairs to my beautiful big green chariot, and this is what I see:
To the right, you will see the 6:18.
There’s no train on the right, right?!!
The 6:18 was not there.
It was not there for quite some time.
I enjoyed eavesdropping on a couple of conversations.
The one where the girl was telling her boyfriend she needs to find work was my favourite.
If one is taking a fictitious train at ungodly hours without luggage, should her free time not be better suited looking for employment?
I mull this over then realize she’s likely riding the rails, job shopping, freight train style.
I have a new respect for this girl.
I’m interrupted by visions of me riding the rails, like a hobo with the following question;
“Excuse me, is that the 6:48 train?”
I point at the empty track.
“No, this is!”
Glares down the empty track, trying to see what I see.
“Are you sure?”
One can never tell, but I stick to my convictions.
“Well, where is it?!!”
I mull this over over.
“Monday maintenance work in Moldova.”
“Oh ok! Thanks!”