Monday: The Alarm Clock's Betrayal

Ah, Monday. Not just a day, but an entity—a grumpy, fluorescent-lit warden dragging everyone back into the 'shoulds' and 'must-dos.' You can almost see it lumbering into the office, carrying a briefcase overflowing with unprocessed emails and deadlines, completely unapologetic for shattering the soft, fuzzy bliss of Sunday.

It doesn't sneak in; it bellows, usually via a soul-crushing alarm that sounds less like a chime and more like a personal declaration of war against your sleep schedule. Weekend Self, that carefree, dish-neglecting artist, hands the reins back to the deeply resentful Weekday Self, who just wants to press the snooze button until Friday.

Monday is the moment when the collective human psyche deflates. The coffee machine becomes a pilgrimage site, serving up bitter hope in a styrofoam cup. You look at your colleagues and see fellow survivors, each wearing the same vacant thousand-yard stare that says, "I was just a person wearing pajamas; now I'm a professional again." It’s a harsh, sudden transition, but hey, at least we're all miserable together until Tuesday offers a slightly less aggressive handshake.