My first thought is that I don’t want to complain.

I giggle, because in my mind I immediately start complaining about this particular prompt. So… off to a great start.

Let’s try again.

I complain about the weekend being over. You know the feeling, the Sunday night blues. Nooooooo, I don’t want to go back to work, even though my commute is literally just across the hall. I feel like saying, you can’t make me, while stomping my feet like a dramatic toddler with principles.

Then reality clears its throat.

The response would be something along the lines of: You are absolutely right. You don’t have to work. We also don’t have to pay you. Now get to getting, you complaining subordinate.

And just like that, Monday wins again.

Still, I complain. Briefly. Theatrics included.

Because some rituals are sacred.