Back to the Salt Mines, You Slave!

A long break from work does wonders in replenishing your dwindled energy, aside from distorting your body clock. Proof of this was how our office resembled a ghost town at 8 A. M. , leaving me wondering if I made the very embarrassing mistake of reporting for work on another holiday and if my officemates somehow got lost in the labyrinth alleys of cemeteries or stuck in a monstrous traffic jam.
I had to drag myself out of bed at 5 a.m. just to avoid the rush hour traffic and kilometers-long queues at the MRT. Like what I have said before I signed off for the holidays, I did engorge on TV shows exploiting the age-old topic of man sharing space with the dead and other earthbound creatures. It was a macabre feast for my eyes. My only regret was how I missed the marathon broadcast of the first season of that rockin' TV thriller " 24."
Honestly, I am still sleepy, remaining half-awake and yearning to crawl back into bed and snuggle beneath the bedsheets(wish I have a warm body to hug!). I still have to shift into " slave mode" after I loafed around for nearly a week. But a man's got to do what a man's got to do, and I mean bringing home the bacon every fifteenth day of the month.
So, I command the Spirit of the Sloth that has resided within me for three days to be gone and I order the servile Spirit of the Slave to return to me and whip me! Whip this bad, old boy to work and scream like a mad Banshee " Back to the Salt Mines, you lazy wimp!"

-Prospero Pulma Jr.