Serial no 7 The Black Spot

Ugh, it’s Monday morning. For me, that means the start of a new week. An opportunity for a week full of adventures, thrills, and obstacles. Problems to find a solution, earn my pretty penny at the end of the week. I enjoy the beginning of my week, its what makes Friday so much more worth it.

It changes quickly when I arrive at work to the same faces I left on Friday. Happy and smiling on Friday, they’ve now transformed into miserable frowns. Grins fade and attitudes became bitter (after what you would hope had been a good weekend for them), and the excuses are made to be humorous but ridiculous and tiring all the same.

“I haven’t had enough coffee.”

No bitch, coffee doesn’t make you happy. It just speeds up your heart rate.

“I’m soooo tired, hardly slept.”

Then you shouldn’t have partied so much at the weekend! You had two full days to relax, don’t shit on me because of your miserable life choices.

“Monday came too quickly.”

Uh, we’re all adults here, and I’m pretty sure for the last four decades that you’ve been alive, Monday has always come after Sunday.

So, these bitchy attitudes. It’s like a black spot on your hand. Everyone can see it, but most don’t point it out.

It’s left to grow and fester. I enjoy my life, I’m sad for those that blame their RBF on a lack of coffee.

I turn to my computer to drown myself in work. The black spot grows no matter. It consumes the air, and the musk suffocates anything good in the workplace. It sucks the light from our shared window until all I see and feel is black.

The clock finally hits noon hour, so I get an hour to recoup my mental health away from the ever-growing black spot of rot that is work. I brush the ashy coal from your black spot off my shirt, read and drink my pop.

I’ve already heard by lunch, three times, why you don’t like this particular pop, but it doesn’t make me enjoy it anyway less.

I finish my last sip and head back to work. And smile and nod through the remainder of my day, knowing it’s only hurting you. The black spot on you. I refuse to let it spread onto me.

I’m going to turn that rot that you spread with your toxicity, and I’m going to thrive on my niceties with them.

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