#weekend rage

Look, I’m not looking at you. Not because I’m shy. I’m avoiding eye contact like it’s a goddamn landmine. Why? Because the weekend vanished faster than my last shred of patience. Blink, and it’s gone. And no, I didn’t enjoy it. I was stuck running errands for family like their personal Uber-slave.

So don’t get me started on that unholy greeting. “Happy—Monday!” No. It’s not happy. It’s not Monday. It’s a cosmic prank designed by Satan’s HR department.

And if you think I’m gonna smile and chirp like some Disney reject? Hell no. I don’t even fucking talk to you like that. So don’t make me start.

Monday? More like “Motherf*cker’s Day.” And I’m just here, pretending I didn’t just survive the hellscape of errands and family bullshit.

So save your “Happy Monday.” I’m busy rehearsing my “Get the f*ck out of my way” face.