I don't shine shoes no more, Billy...

...I, in fact, write short stories!

So heres a hurray for those Monday mornings we all know n love!

Without further ado, I give you "Rise N' Shine"...


"Ok, so its Monday morning. And I’m using the definition loosely. It’s dark outside, cold as heck, and the rooster’s still out cold. Don’t get me wrong: I have nothing against Mondays. It’s the mornings that irk me. So anyway, there I am, sawing logs, just minding my own business. A nudge on the shoulder and a feeling of dread greet me as I wake. Though now conscious, the hatches of my eyelids are firmly nailed closed. I stumble out of my bed like a ship with a schizophrenic at the tiller, nearly running aground several times as I stagger about on my two left feet. After narrowly navigating through the doorway, I flop down the stairs, leaving my heart, mind, and many other vital internal organs under the covers.
Having miraculously survived the trip downstairs, I slog toward the table, feeling a bit like a cinderblock. Probably as agile as one, too. Come to think of it, both currently lack internal organs… As I ponder the alarming similarities, my dad pushes some breakfast in front of me. A piece of toast, with a drop of milk to drink. Oh, before you can fully appreciate my breakfast experience, you need to realize something. When I say a drop, I mean it literally. Don’t get me wrong: my dad’s awesome. But when it comes to hydration, well… The amount of liquid he gets by on would leave a cactus with a dry throat. A camel would be choking. The cup is absolutely microscopic: I mean, I’ve seen heftier shot glasses! But anyway, moving along…
So, due to the culinary drought, I leave the table with a mouth plastered wall to wall with peanut butter. I mean, I had some true interior-decorating going on: shelves, roofing, and maybe even some carpet going in. Impressed but choking, I scale the stairs (not without mishap) and stagger into the bathroom. Prying my sticky jaws open and mentally noting to keep a crowbar by the sink, I thoroughly saturate my mouth, rinse, and repeat. Then, loading down my toothbrush, I scrub away, thankful that my taste buds are not yet fully connected to my brain, preventing me from tasting the scrumptious blend of peanut butter and mint.
Offering up a prayer of thanks after again safely traversing the stairs, I gather my school stuff. Wincing as I sling the overloaded backpack over my shoulder (nearly ripping it out of the socket in the process), I head out of the house and collapse into the idling car.
Having been on the road several minutes now, the sun rises. In our eyes, that is. But hey, it was still beautiful. By this time, the fog in my mind is starting to clear. With I smile I recall a certain quote:"

“On Monday mornings I am dedicated to the proposition that all men are created jerks.”
H. Allen Smith




P.S “If you can only keep one thing with you on Monday mornings, let it be your sarcasm.”
ThinAir

DISCLAIMER: None of these facts are false, but few are exactly accurate…