I don't like Mondays.
It is 9:30, and I just got home. Normally, of course, 9:30 is well within my self-made, grown-up curfew. However, when the place I'm coming home from is a 2 1/2 hour meeting regarding the fate of local ATVs, which I only got to attend as my reward for finishing a ridiculous day of layout, with zero breaks for food, 9:30 is way, way, way past my bed time.
Naturally I couldn't just keep this to myself and go to bed quietly. I seem to be operating on some kind of adrenaline leftover. So, for your enjoyment, some of the highlights of Monday in the life of a small-town journalist, suddenly thrown into the roll of editor:
After waking up 20 minutes before I had to be at work, I stumbled outside, toast and tea in hand. I balanced my toast on top of my lucky car frog, and drove almost to the end of my street before realizing I should probably have my wipers on. Fortunately, this caused me to take a closer look at the windshield and notice that the food fairies left me an apple. (Aw) A good thing too, as it wound up being what passed for my lunch.
Fast forward through a brain-numbing day of laying out page after page after page of paper until the end of time, and yelling "What do you want from me!" at the phone every time it rang, before picking it up and pretending to be sane and/or competent.
At one point I deleriously walked into one of the offices to pick things up from the printer, only to find that the printer had morphed into a confused coworker who kindly pointed next door.
Top it all off with spending the better part of my evening seated next to a guy named Esau, who really wants to ride around on his ATV, to the chagrin of his neighbours, et voila,
this is my brain on Mondays.