On the Wrong Side

You curse at the alarm clock, yanking you from sleep with its grating, blaring, beating refrain.  The bathroom mirror informs you of a bad hair day, and that you shouldn’t have called that last slice of pizza.  And you think of how much you hate weekdays, hate your job, hate your gossiping coworkers, hate your boss and hate the way he bosses.  You slam the bathroom door shut.  You kick the dog, but he doesn’t deserve it.  He whimpers and scurries off, tail between his legs.  And for a moment you feel bad.  Why is it always about you anyway?