Manic Monday

There are seven bright red blooms on the Hibiscus plants in the Corporate Headquarters of Micheal Elliott Enterprises. As the boss, I'm the first one in the office this morning. Well, the Palm Tree with the Oyster face, Coconut bra and grass skirt always seems to be here but she really doesn't seem to do anything. It's a pet friendly office so Winston, the little gay dog, is running around trying to eat the bright yellow blooms on the plants underneath the Hibiscus. I curse at him clarifying things about his lineage and what he did to his mother. A list of things to do sits beside my computer on powder blue paper. Reviewing it, I sigh. "I don't want to do that," I tell myself. "I did that last week and I don't want to do it again." It's a good thing I no longer have any employees or I'd have to set an example for them. I used to have lots of employees, at one time almost 300, and I was forever setting the example. They were mostly bad ones ... nevertheless, they were instructive. Towards the end of my career as an actual employer, I stopped wearing socks to work. It was just just too much of a pain in the ass. I also stopped wearing a coat and tie. I'd done that for thirty years. Instead I wore cargo pants with lots of pockets and black Polo tee shirts. I would stick all kinds of things in the pockets of the Cargo pants ... chewing gum, glasses, duct tape, extra cash in case I needed to get away fast, Snickers bars and those little bottles of Vodka. Those last years, I mostly spent my life in meetings with Lawyers and Bankers, the very people who invented ... BORING. I don't wear pockets to work anymore. As a matter of fact, I don't wear anything to work. It's one of the perks of the job to compensate for the lack of actual profit. As a new small business owner, last year I thought I really rocked-and rolled, traveling the nation providing services and product, wining and dining and depositing checks left and right into the corporate account. At the end of the year, I met with aforementioned Lawyers and Bankers and wrote lots of checks ... to the Government, Accountants, Lawyers and Bankers. When all was said and done ... I had enough left over for chewing gum, glasses, duct tape, one dollar bills, a Snickers Bar and those little bottles of Vodka. Today, it's just another Manic Monday. Did you know that Prince, or the Artist-formally-known-as -Prince, or whatever his name is, wrote that song. It's about a girl who doesn't want to go to work on Monday because she wishes it was still Sunday. What the hell was he thinking when he wrote this song? What was he wearing? And why? It's time to start crossing things off my list. Blowing air into my cupped hands, I pump myself up. "Lets do this," I say out loud. The sliding glass door opens and Cassidy, the five year old, stumbles out wearing a red blanket and a Princess Crown. Grabbing Winston, the little gay dog, she sits on the floor. "What are you doing Mike," she asks with sleepy eyes, blond hair askew, wiping snot on her sleeve. "Just working," I tell her. "It's just another Manic Monday." She nods sympathetically. "You too?" I ask.