If time machines are ever invented, please come to San Antonio, Texas at 8:00am on January 23, 2012 and ask for Chris Bolton. I have some stuff to talk to you about.
Awesome. With any luck, this could turn out to be an interesting day.
The word “Monday” is derived from an old English word meaning moon’s day. It sounds like a bit of an oxymoron to me, but I’ll go with it. On this particular moon’s day I’m having trouble sorting through all of the glitz and glam that is my life. With the ghosts of Shakespeare and Twain fighting to control my writing prowess, I reflect upon the daily happenings. Strangely enough, all I can conjure is a list of transgressions. All I can do is describe my events and let future historians sort it all out.
The sun burst forth from the horizon to shower its golden rays upon the Texan soil. My still sleeping body gets bathed in the warmth of a new day. The distant drone of automobiles signals the world that the worker ants have begun their daily trudge. A snooze button gets absentmindedly pressed, for the dreams are too tantalizing to be shattered just yet. A cat utters its morning meow - a desperate begging of attention. The dreams are slipping. “Please God, just let me sleep a few moments longer!” A body begins to stir underneath. It’s at this point that my outlandish reign over moon’s day is about to begin. Mark your calendars and clear your schedules because on this day:
I woke up.
I went to work.
Sarcasm at its finest, folks.
Drumroll.
End scene.
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About the author: Chris Bolton is a 23-year-old male inhabitant of San Antonio, Texas. He has a degree in film and digital media. He’s just a normal dude.
