The Monday

A monday morning. The sleepless night before, of dreaming strange things that my mind cannot ignore. Rising at the breakfast of a spilt glass of orange juice, I glance upon my scattered goals, flip through my future for a minute or two. It seems a mess, but there's pages to it. There's hope of some sort.

I have to get down to work, I got up to do just that. The pieces of information worth a hundred marks lie before me and I am supposed to indulge and absorb and spit out at will.

I slap on a piece of morning rejuvenation. It's royal jelly this time. Cold, sweet, like the dew of every day itself poured over my sleep-deprived soul. I shall be ready in 15minutes.

Ready to face to memories of today, the trials of tomorrow. I should be ready. If by night I am not, only insomnia can take me.