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The Prolific Bunker

I used to hate going to school. The emotional cycle had a period of precisely one-week. I used to feel down in the dumps on Monday mornings...but as the week progressed, my gloom would gradually diminish. Friday evenings were the best: 2 days of no-going-to-school to follow. I felt on top of the world!

Getting out of bed on Mo(ur)nday morns was the weekly tragedy I never really got used to. I would come up with countless imaginary illnesses and beg Mom to let me bunk school for the day, a mission often accomplished. Of course, facing the music from Dad in the evening was a danger that loomed large.If my school ever came up with the Prolific Bunker's Hall of Shame, I would be one of its most obvious and illustrious inductees!

College was a nice respite. I was away from home and atteding classes was the exception rather than the rule. I'm yet to learn who my English teacher was supposed to be! And I was in thick company now, so the feeling of guilt was almost comletely gone. Attending classes had one very alluring incentive though: getting to watch the pretties babes in town. Fergusson College had no derth of them and we sometimes consented to suffering the long and boring lectures just to help ourselves ogle at the pretty lasses.

Then came professional life. You are no longer allowed to sit passively at your place; instead, they expect you to actually work. How insulting! Well, the old Monday morning blues has returned to haunt me. It's the same feeling of supreme melancholy that gradually ebbs as the week progresses, the same feeling of exultation on Friday nights and the same resurgence of sombreness over the weekend.

If I ever spot a well on a Monday morning, I swear I'll jump into it.


Vivek said…
My thoughts, exactly.
Anonymous said…
i can dig a well 4 u , and a rescue team ,u jump in it and resue operations ,
and mean while rope u ur suitable boy ,
so that u sit inside and keep doing it .
now howzat !

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