A Normal Monday

5 may 2025

"An Ordinary Monday" The alarm blared at 6:30 AM, sharp and relentless. Mark moaned as he slammed the snooze button with expert precision. Five additional minutes He only needed that. But five minutes turned into ten, and before he knew it, he was scrambling out of bed at 6:55, cursing under his breath. He stumbled into the shower, the water lukewarm at best, and scrubbed himself half-awake. As he brushed his teeth, the reflection of him was a blur of tired eyes and bedhead. A granola bar and a cup of black coffee were consumed while he scrolled through his phone during the hurried breakfast. Emails already. That's right. A meeting reminder for 9 AM, a passive-aggressive note from his boss about last week’s unfinished report, and a spam email promising him "financial freedom in just three easy steps!" He laughed as he deleted that one. The usual chaos surrounded the journey. Traffic crawled, brake lights glowing red in the early morning gloom. The radio played the same pop song for what felt like the hundredth time that month. In an effort to get the cars in front to move, Mark rubbed his fingers on the steering wheel. By the time he reached the office, it was 8:47. He swung his badge at the door and nodded to Janet from HR, who smiled at him normally with a tight lip. The elevator was packed, bodies pressed together in uncomfortable silence. The perfume of someone was too strong. Someone else had a bacon odor. His desk was exactly as he’d left it on Friday—messy. a half-empty water bottle, stacks of paperwork, and a sticky note that just said "Call Dave??" * with no further context. He frowned at it before tossing it into the trash.

The 9 AM meeting was, as expected, pointless. Mr., his boss, While everyone else nodded in agreement, Henderson droned on about "synergy" and "quarterly projections." Mark sipped his now-cold coffee and doodled in the margins of his notebook.

Lunch was a sad sandwich from the deli downstairs—dry turkey, wilted lettuce, and just enough mayo to make it edible. While he was checking social media, he ate at his desk. Another picture from a vacation had been shared by his cousin. Possibly a tropical beach. He liked the picture out of obligation before closing the app.

The afternoon was long. Spreadsheets blurred together. Lisa, a coworker of Mark's, came by to talk about the new intern, but Mark only half-listened and nodded in response. The office coffee machine died at 3 p.m. with a pathetic wheeze before completely disintegrating. A collective groan rose from the cubicles.

Mark was packing up by 5:30, hurriedly stuffing folders into his bag. The drive home was slightly better—fewer cars, at least. A light drizzle was pounding against his windshield as the sky had become darker. Leftovers made up the meal. He ate some pasta from the microwave while standing over the sink and wondered if he should have cooked it properly. He did not. The evening passed in a haze—a few episodes of a show he wasn’t really paying attention to, a half-hearted attempt at laundry, and a text from his mom asking if he was coming to visit next weekend. He replied, "Maybe, I’ll check my schedule," in a hazy manner. *

He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, at 10 p.m. His phone buzzed—another email. He disregarded it. Tuesday was tomorrow. Just another day.

He closed his eyes and waited for sleep.