Mondays are Mondays are Mondays
Why after all these years do I expect Mondays to be anything but Mondays? The bell rings and your out the gate, you are inching up on the rabbit, then suddenly, bam, the rabbit is off, faster than the speed of sound, and you’re behind it, chasing and huffing and puffing and still you can’t catch that silly rabbit. Then boom it’s time for bed. But you’re so wound up from the chase you are still panting only the race is over – at least for today – and so you sit here bewildered, staring at the four walls of your bedroom going – which way did he go? which way did he go?