Monday = Cuntday

Sundays are a fucking enigma to me. I am constantly at war with Sunday, have been since I can remember. When I was a kid, Sunday was the perfect time to go play in the park or the forest. If the weather was bad and I couldn't go out I would experience the beginning of the fear. The fear of unwarranted reprehension, for the smallest thing.

My mum turned into a monster every Sunday.

My dad worked nights and didn't get out of bed until say 3pm. Sunday was the day my mum did the boring household shit that comes with having 2 young children. All that washing, cooking, cleaning and breaking up fights put my mother in a beautiful mood. You stepped lightly on Sundays in my house.

That was me up until I left home and took my first job in a casino. Shift work. I had Wednesday and Thursday off, worked nights the rest of the week. Sunday was just another work day to me then and I slept through most of the day anyway. That pattern continued pretty much for the next 10 years. I have to say that by the time I left the casinos, Sunday had taken on an almost mystical quality. I wanted that generic lazy day that everyone else had. I was fed up with my job and wanted out. I rationalised my occupational apathy by telling myself that if I was a normal person who didn't sleep all day long and work at night, didn't spend their version of a weekend forever going out on Tuesday and Wednesday nights, worked a 9-5 job, everything would be OK.

Imagine my surprise that 4 years into leading a "normal" life, I find that the bullshit is exactly the same on this side of the fence. I waste 50% of my weekend with the nagging, almost debilitating ice ball in my stomach that is "Fear of Monday".

Fuck Mondays for spoiling my Sundays. I hereby declare Monday to be a big bullying cunt of a day. All other days shall now refer to their colleague Monday as "Cuntday". As should all humans. Next week when you leave work on a Friday evening, turn to your colleagues and tell them that you shall "See them on Cuntday". A blatant reminder to us all that because it is Cuntday, it is OK to be a grumpy bastard, or cunt if you will. I will.

Driving to work in the morning and some fucker cuts you up? Ram them off the road. Using "The Cuntday Defence", you shall be acquitted immediately from any court in the land for any crime. "It was Cuntday your honour and he looked at me all funny...let's face it, he deserved the machete treatment."

Someone barges past you to get on the escalator before you do during the pleasures of rush hour on public transport? Simply cover them in petrol and set fire to them. They certainly won't be doing that again in a hurry. Education is a good thing. I caramelise you for your own good.

You too can join in the pleasures of Cuntday even if you live in rural areas. Driving to work and that same fucking sheep gives you a funny look again? Kick the fucking crap out of that sheep. Boot it down the largest hill in your village, making sure all other villagers hear you telling that woolly cunt who is boss.

I have Thursday and Friday off this week. The fear is minimal today. I can just about handle it.