A Bundle Of Contradictions

In case you're a regular stalker of my oh-so-majestic blog, I'm pretty sure you would know the real reason why I actually started blogging. 
In case you're just an innocent internet user who accidentally stumbled across this blog, let me tell you why I plunged into the sphere of blogging. 
I was a twelve-year-old girl, with the body of a seven-year-old and I had, very recently, been bitten by the writing bug. I'd just finished writing my first novel (which was the stupidest, silliest story ever yet I'm really proud of it) and I just wanted to write more and more and more. 
Then, one fine day, I came to know about the concept of 'blogs' because of my cousin. 
My cousin's really ancient (okay, about thirteen years older than I am) and the number of times we've conversed can be counted in fingers. By the time I'd be old enough to get married, he'd be old enough to have white hair and probably end up having a piteously poor eyesight. 
Anyways, …

Describe each day of the week as if it were a person. Give each one a name, age and job.

46-year-old Monica Frost was a career woman. She was constantly driven by the need to excel in her job. Her job had made her sacrifice her family – she had put her mother in an old-age home and divorced her husband around the same time.

Monica was so obsessed with her job as a marketing analyst that she had no regret about throwing away her family. 

Monica’s only friends were her laptop and her office chair. No one invited her to their house parties. She had never been inside a club – even in her teens. 

Monica could not think of a day where she had relaxed and let go. She hardly remembered the day when she’d last left her high-rise apartment and gone on a vacation. She couldn’t think of a day when she’d had a complete meal, not a burger from a fast-food joint near her apartment. She hardly remembered the day when she’d had a full night’s sleep.

But then again, Monica was too busy to think of such thin…

No matter how much you deny,  A lot of people don't know,
What really does go,
On in your mysterious mind; 
They say you're ordinary,
Sweet, simple and soft;  But I know you better,
You're enigmatic and a hopeless fool; 
I see right through you,
I see right past your innocent smile,  I see right past your sweet voice,
I see that you're a lonesome being with no choice; 
To you, trust is a treasure,
Which has no measure;  To you, trust is a luxury,
That you cannot afford to lose; 
You have a biased view,
About this world;  You think everyone is waiting,
To hurt you real bad; 
You think the world wants,
You to fall deep into a bottomless pit,
You think they'd love to see,
The light in your eyes unlit; 
According to you,  Sharing your secret,
Is like giving away,
Your credit card; 
You may be a strong person,  But right now,  You're cautious, fearful and downright scared,
You're scratched, bruised and disfiguring-ly scarred;  
You'd rather murder your own …