Album: Sometimes I Might Be Introvert by Little Simz.
Food: Cinnamon and raisin bagel with cream cheese.
Mondays are not for writing. Mondays are for greasy hair and spilling toothpaste down your jumper. Mondays are for running out of milk. Mondays are for missing your train. They're for misjudging the temperature and for sweating as you run to the platform. Mondays a re for getting cold as you wait for the next one. Mondays are for under-baked croissants, bad coffee and then the shits when you get to work because you don't normally have caffeine. Mondays are for dumping your boyfriend. Mondays are for wondering if you should tell him about the coked up sex you had with a banker on Saturday in the hope that he'll end the relationship for you. Mondays are for chickening out and looking listlessly around his living room until he asks you to leave because it's Monday and aren't you meant to be at work?
Mondays are for dilapidated daffodils and two fat pigeons and uncollected bins and fag butts in pavement puddles. Mondays are for dreaming of duvet drowning. They're for closing your eyes and seeing nothing but a return to sleep. Mondays are for forgetting your laptop charger. Mondays are for wearing the bad socks that slip inside your shoe. Mondays are for having a great idea when you're in the supermarket and being unable to recall it by the time you've got a pen in your hand. Mondays are for other people watching videos on their phones out loud in public. Mondays are for a queue at the post office, a queue at the sandwich shop and a queue at the bank. Mondays are for checking your account and cancelling dinner plans at the upscale Peruvian restaurant your friend who works in marketing said you just had to try. Mondays are for hearing two seconds of the people next to you's conversation and deciding to hate them forever. Mondays are for hiding a single piece from your boyfriend's homophobic housemates 8000-piece puzzle. Mondays are for getting your period. Mondays are for climate change headlines. Mondays are for thrush, an achey back, a spot you can't stop picking, chapped lips, ankle blisters and a snotty nose.
Mondays are for shouting. They're for starting arguments with the sweetest people in your life and saying things you'll regret an hour later. Mondays are for screaming, for crying in a bathroom, for tweeting politicians you don't like, for giving restaurants you haven't been to one star on trip advisor because their vegan option looked bland. Mondays are for missing your mum. Mondays are for regretting everything you said on Friday night. Mondays are for getting through, for crawling through for dragging yourself by your fingernails through and Mondays are for hoping Tuesday will be better.
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