I sip coffee to collect my thoughts. The wind beats against the windows.
More coffee and I stretch my neck. I stretch my shoulders. Has the caffeine kicked in yet? It’s starting to.
I sit before a blank white box, pressing buttons. My fingers are clumsy on the keys; they’ve not yet found their rhythm.
The buttons I press correspond to letters and the letters become words; these are the sums of language.
Monday is a sum of last week and the week before. Behold the wondrous, cascading maths of time.
A constant re-beginning, like a child’s nursery rhyme. An infinite progression into the future: another new beginning, another Monday, another.
New week’s resolutions resolve themselves. Time conveys us forward. Last week is stripped and crushed like an old car in a junkyard. The metal husks of old weeks pile high.
Another new beginning, another Monday, another.
Good morning, Monday.
Michael Scott Hand 