As I drive into work, defending my sanity against every insane Monday driver hell bent on making it to work two seconds before myself, I sit in my car as many do, pondering about the days events, loathing the dreaded Monday, the assurance of traffic after work and praying to whichever higher power there is that granted the will of having my car start flawlessly one more bone chilling morning. But as I sit here, I realize how mundane a “bad” day is for me or rather, a deary Monday morning. Have I woken up in a trench filled to the brim with stagnant water, thanking and praying possibly to another higher power, that the breath I just took wasn’t my last nor will the next one be? My ride to work did not consist of having the vehicle next to me be there one minute, and the next a smoldering pile of metal that once housed friends I grew up with. Though I should, and it shouldn’t be a day written in a calendar to make me do so, be thankful that I woke up to an alarm clock this morning instead of gun fire. That I put on my pants one leg at a time, instead of putting on my legs one at a time. Thank you for defending this wonderful country I have the pleasure, the right and the freedom of calling home. And why? Because your alarm clock was gun fire, your traffic was the fellow soldiers you ran with towards a fate unknown, and your home was briefly a trench filled to the brim with stagnant water. 
Simply Makes You Stranger 