19 July 2011
I Hate Mondays Like Governments Hate Freedom
Mondays, as we all know, are a motherfucker. First you have to wake up. Then you have to stagger around. Lights, piss, beer shit, teeth, nose, radio, coffee. (Most of you probably turn on the tv, not the radio. That explains, in case you were wondering, why you are so dumb.) Once the first cup is in me I feel like a fighter stepping into the ring. A slow, runny nosed fighter with bad teeth and an asshole that is going to hurt until noon from his beer shit but a fighter nevertheless.
I pour myself another cup and find the dog. She wakes up early every morning except Monday. I think she likes to see if I am going to make it on Monday mornings. Does not want to be outside when I keel over and choke on my own vomit in the middle of the kitchen floor like some bloated sawmill punk rock Elvis.
Whether she wants out or not I put the dog out once I have petted her a little. This time of year it is noisy as a sitting of Parliament outside. Fucking birds. Sometimes my neighbours who wake up even earlier than me are starting their cars and heading for the highway. Fucking neighbours.
As I am finishing my second cup I pour myself a cup for the road and set it by my lunch bucket. I go give Sonja a kiss good-bye and let the dog back in. Bacon and eggs at Ma's, a couple more cups of coffee and I am ready to give what little I have left to the sawmill for another week.
As I pull out of the drive I wave good-bye to the Hammer looking at me out the window. None of my other dogs ever did that. She does it every day. Rests her head on the sill and watches me go. Having a sweet dog makes every morning, not just motherfucking Mondays, that much less impossible.