, , , ,

Dear Monday,

This has got to stop. I should have said something long ago, but I just didn’t have the guts.

We spend so little time together these days, and yet every moment with you drags on forever. I think we can admit that we’re both happier when you leave me, which you do every time, without fail. But, Monday, you keep coming back — and it always ends the same way. We always start out hopeful, determined to make it better this time, and then some little thing we can’t agree on gets between us, and suddenly all of our time together is about who’s right and whose job it is to do what, and I’m just waiting for it to be over, for you to decide it’s not working and go so I can eat my dinner in peace and try to recover from all the stress.

It’s no way to carry on a relationship, Monday. You leave, and the truth is, we’re both relieved when you do…and when you walk out that door, most of the time I find myself hoping you won’t come back.

Let’s just call it a day, Monday. We had a good run. Let’s not let it turn any uglier than it already has. We’ll both get more sleep this way. Just stop showing up in my bed at the end of a Sunday night; stop spending 24 hours following my every move– stop. Just stop. We’ll be happier. I promise.

Don’t cry. You know it’s the right thing to do. It’s not you, Monday: it’s me.