Monday, Schumday.

I must be the only guy in the world that actually enjoys Mondays. I love them! I wish every day was like a monday. Every weekday, that is. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm not so sad that I wish my weekends were spent working. I work to live.
If truth be told, I think I'd rather cut my own tongue out with a plastic fork than go to work. It's not that I really hate my job, per say, but I'd really rather I didn't have to go, and I think lopping off one's tongue with a blunt piece of plastic cutlery would definately be preferable, especially if you never had to go back. Although in true fairness, I probably wouldn't be invited back if I did that.

Right, now that I've established that searing pain and a long painful death would be preferable to Monday at work, I can move on to my actual point. Now if I HAD to go to work, I would rather every day was like monday. I love that Monday feeling. Mondays always go really fast, because the monotony of the week has not yet set in. The sinking feeling that you're wasting your life away doesn't usually set in until about Tuesday or Wednesday, and the level of despair that makes you wonder if DIY lobotomies using paper knives shoved up your nostrils are a good idea, doesn't usually hit you until closer to Thursday.

Fridays have to be days that time Lords hate, because time physically moves slower on all days starting with 'Fri'. Friday afternoons can usually find me clawing at the windows, wishing a mattress lorry would drive by my 3rd story window. Actually, on Friday, I'd take a razorblade lorry, or a broken glass and lemon juice lorry. Anything to get out.

However, when I tell people that "actually, I quite like Mondays" people just look at me strangely, and then mutter something and walk off. It's quite disconcerting, and I get the strangest feeling I'm gonna by lynched, or at the very least bound, gagged and straightjacketed.