Of kicking cats and Mondays

Just another day of kicking cats* and chasing vapour.
Of listening to egos clash and empty platitudes placed like bandages.
Of digging nails into palms beneath the desk top and trying not to yawn.
Of watching rain roll down the windows and the drip drip drip of seconds falling from the clock.
Of drinking institutional coffee and dunking soft stale biscuits.
Of eating floppy sandwiches and wishing it was steak.
Of hearing the nervous tic of unnecessary throat clearing from the office next to mine.
Of recognising stress in another but not knowing what to say.
Or how to say it.
Or if.
Of wishing that I could tell her it’s only work.
Of telling her that other things matter more than what others think.
Of understanding that's something you have to work out for yourself.
Of folding and unfolding an umbrella and walking in puddles.
Of wearing purple high heeled shoes and matching lilac sweater.
Of spotting two unmet colleagues and guessing they were my 2 o’clock.
Of remembering their names.
Of finding them both charming and both aged 51.
Of one of them not looking it.
Of driving through the driving rain to bring me home.
Of finding the dog waiting in a patient ball behind the door.
Of changing into a green sweatshirt and soft warm socks.
Of feeling glad that work day Monday’s over.
Of being happy just being.
Of knowing I am very lucky.




* no animals were harmed in the making of this blog