Monday’s zombies, so hooked on their weekends, are downright bummed to see us again, forced to endure our very existence. They’re everywhere, swarming around us, ready to spit their despair in our faces, merely for being their unchosen comrades. Trapped in a devilish cycle, they battle for five endless days just to relish two pitiful days of some prescribed, scheduled bliss. — As every morning, I swagger into the office to the raucous applause of the administrative drones in the open space.