writing cramp Jan 10 - 320 words

    “Crap! I have to move that night stand. I am getting so tired of banging my toe on it.” Yes, this was an every morning thing for me, but when the pain subsided so did the memory to move the thing out of my morning path. Walk into the bathroom. I can not believe that I nearly fell into the bowl. “One hundred time over have I told those boys to put the seat back down.” Of course, the boys had already caught the bus. I had to one to yell at.

    I take a shower in cold water. I guess that the boys used all the hot water. “Well, I can see that this is a Monday morning here in the pink house in Rotterdam.” I stand in front of the mirror brushing and drying my hair. There I see a patch of gray hair staring back at me. I don't have time to color, so I go into war mode pulling them out one by one until they weren't visible.

    I then pour a bowl of oat meal. It was not my favorite flavor. The boys had the counter covered with empty packages of what used to be my favorite Apple instant oat meal. “Stuck with plain, I guess.” I cut a banana for the dish. The knife slipped on the slippery fruit and cut my left pointer finger.

  Angry, I wrap my finger with a band aide, grab my brief case, and run for the city bus stop. I spin around. I slam my door. My brief case is thrown across the room. I pick up the phone.

    Pulling off my work clothes as I run up the stairs, I continue my conversation. “I am not coming in to work today. I have caught the 'everything has gone wrong Mondays' illnesses. I will be in tomorrow, if it is a Terrific Tuesday.”