In Monday’s Shoes

I had a hater club since the day I was born. They don’t like me for my name. Yeah yeah, I’m Monday, and I didn’t choose that name for myself, but who cares. They just need someone to hate, and I’m accidentally the one who starts the week. So first come first hates for Monday, everyone.

Monday mood. I see it everywhere. Photo by on

Have you ever been hated just because of the name you bear, with no reason at all related to you? I guess not. You don’t understand what I mean. You all have beautiful names, anything but Monday.

When I walk into the room, no one expects me but instead sighs loudly, “Oh no, Monday again!” I know (I feel it!) that they are sick of me. Kids avoid me, begging for Saturday to come back. Adults are not better. They get furious when Sunday is almost over. Everyone treats me like a threat!

Some mothers go wild, cleaning up the house on Monday after a messy weekend.

Some fathers gulp their fourth cup of coffee by mid-day, soon having a headache (then curse Monday).

Some kids sleep in the classroom, not to mention that getting them there in the first place is already a morning fight, involving begging, threatening, and promising something good when the weekend comes around again.

I see them all. I wonder if I make them tired just by saying my name, or because my root, my vibe and my angle all scream SO TIRED.