BB Grey–musings

The weekend ended abruptly, slammed into Monday. Regret, that old friend, crept in while I sipped on a warm beer from noon, watching the Packers fail against the Eagles. That beer sat in my gut like a bad choice.

Sunday evenings, they’re a melancholy stretch. Not like those Disney nights from childhood, when the world seemed a touch more magical. Plaid pajamas, waiting for something good, and now? Just another Monday waiting to weigh me down.

Being the boss on Monday, it’s tough. No plan, just the burden of the week on my shoulders.

Skipped dinner, just a fancy Taco Bell box at noon, still sitting there like a regret. Cashews down the hatch, hoping to cut the beer’s sour bite. Didn’t work.

The clock’s hour hand moved like molasses from ten to twelve, just like my legs to stand up. Bed by eight, because why not? Wake at four, do it all over, mess up the same things.

The Commanders, once the Redskins, now a politically correct slap to the face, tied with Tampa. At least they had the decency to work on a Sunday, unlike my lazy self.

Nothing to get excited about this week. Just another slog. California’s burning, motivation’s gone.

Two-minute warning. The kicker, his moment. Time, that relentless clock, kept ticking.

One second left, timeouts like a game within a game, the ball wobbled through the posts. Commanders won, fireworks, noise, and then silence as I switched off the TV.

Lights out, toothpaste smeared across my teeth, Pepcid swallowed, naked under sheets that feel like defeat. Alexa mumbled 8:30. I closed my eyes, prayed for sleep to end this endless Sunday.