It is Sunday evening. You will soon go to sleep. You put the alarm clock at six o’clock in the morning and you acomodas within the bedcover hoping that they stroked the first gigantic of sleep. You want to end this day of a good time. Sundays are so overwhelming, heavy, ominous. There are worse days than Sunday? You bostezas.
You leave in the night table book by Coelho that you were reading and think about tomorrow. You’ve proposed you to re-release your life. Go to the gym. Start the diet that you had planned months ago and lose those extra pounds that now lights most shamelessly. You want to put your life in order, set aside that cowardly and lazy spirit that you characterized. You solve awaken with a rozagante, luminous, optimistic smile announcing to everyone that you’re a new man, a visionary, a winner.
You feel that tomorrow is the big day. Nothing better than a Monday to begin. You kiss your Teddy bear and without further delay you surrender to the drunkenness of the dream. You get into that deep dimension without stop thinking or by a second in the hours that are missing to make it Monday. Monday. Monday again. As those mornings in the formation of your school: enduring the speeches of the director at the celebration of the unbearable date of day; singing the national anthem, of the city and the peripatetic anthem of your prestigious educational centre; praying the our father, the creed, the Hail Mary and angelito of the guard by more than half an hour only because happened to your old the excellent idea of get into that illustrious religious school. Or those other mornings rushing to the University without breakfast because the class begins at seven o’clock, and are seven and five, and bastard teacher tells you that it is already late, come back next Monday, and you study because there are review; and so for seven years, since you pulled in two. And much sacrifice for what? So another Monday again very early, with your newly rented blue ternito, your glamorous patent leather shoes, your CV carefully archived in a luxurious manila folder, and your newspaper of the previous day under his arm, seek employment for seven more years, because any offer satisfy your towering expectations. Tired of investigating, accept the first job that leaves you to step, and then another abominable Monday appears, again disrupting your mornings. Now work on something completely different from what you studied and you regret that miserable salary that it does not reward or one sacrificed mornings to fight for your goals, renew you thoroughly, reaching the top of the success, and being, as the book is still resting on the nightstand, he says a resounding winner. The alarm clock rings. You take it in the dark. They are six o’clock in the morning. You make the attempt to get up but, alas, a languid law of gravity you returns to the bed. You throw the alarm clock that desconchinflado, now, must hate Mondays as well as you. You acomodas well your pillow. You return to take refuge under the bedcover and sucumbes again to the fresh onslaught of sleep. Overall, there is always a Monday to start again.