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Caitlyn Mulcahy


I write on my laptop, I write on my books, I write on my hands. Best of all, I write in my head. Constantly. I'm never not writing. What do you think dreams are? Your brain writing its own stories while you are sleeping.

Monday Blues

March 7, 2016


Monday Yawned. Stretched her back into a graceful arc, waiting for the satisfying pop of her shoulders. She smiled weakly and rolled her eyes. She had to work, and that meant an early start. What a horrible start to the day. The others didn’t understand how difficult work was for her. The others had it easy. They weren’t hated. Monday crawled from her bed, walked unsteadily to the window and yanked back the curtains. She winced at the near blinding light that erupted into the room and envied its eagerness to start the day. She wanted to be able to enjoy her work. But she couldn’t. Not with the pessimistic moaning and sighing whenever she entered a room. Monday would never be accepted. Never be loved. She longed to be as popular as her colleagues. Adored and welcomed by all who see them. Nobody would ever willingly talk to her. Was it the dark circles under her weary eyes, her mop of untidy coal black hair. Maybe it was the way she scowled darkly at anyone who dared moan or whine at her appearance. But had anyone considered that if they were welcoming to her, if they expressed happiness to see her, or were even nice to her, maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to be grumpy. Monday might even smile, do something with her hair, say hello to her colleagues. But that was wishful thinking. She knew that as soon as she arrived at work, people would shy away, grit their teeth and ignore her. Monday was forever trapped. Wallowing in her unavoidable solitude.


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