What if instead of dreading the looming disaster that popularly known as Monday was a rumour? What if you thought on Sunday “Oh Dear God! This holiday is taking a toll on me!” No, I am not a lunatic, atleast no one would send to the insane asylum, there an obvious reason for the eye-brow raising rant. The absolutely unexpected behaviour in the working. The love of labour. Yes, my sweet readers, there are those odd birds who love their jobs.
My not-so-flattering brother said, “You so Love playing “the writer”, don’t you?” And I know what? he’s right! I Love it! True writers know that it was always within them bursting to come out. Oppressed by the judgemental mediocre mentality that stifles creativity, the omnipresent scolding voice of responsibility that demands immediate monetary results, was always the artist within that exclaimed at the new and extraordinary.The artist that did not distinguish between disaster and miracle but only widened their eye with marvel at the once in a life time event that took place before them. The event that would later be the glorious tale you relate to less experienced non-readers. My brother was right, you see, I so Love playing “the writer”. I love being the child with eager eyes on the look out for new toys in the playground that is the World.
And I love my Monday, wouldn’t you?