Case of the Mondays

My case of the Mondays started on a Wednesday a week and a half ago when my car, Lulu, broke down on the freeway on my way home from work…in the pouring rain. It began as I stood (in my little pencil skirt and faux snake skin heels) on the side of the road, getting splashed with road water from the passing semi-trucks, contemplating my fate without Lulu. I knew she was done for. Smoke was pouring out of the engine and into the car. This was no ordinary break down (and I should know…you might call me a connoisseur of break downs). Just before she died she let out a 5 alarm fire warning with every possible bell and whistle blaring at me. Did I heed the warning? No. I figured I could make it home…or at least to my mechanic before she gave up the ghost. But, my faith was misplaced. She died there on the 5 just north of the Stafford Road exit of overheating, a blown head gasket, and a burnt up heating core. She was clearly having a case of the Mondays.

But my case of the Mondays didn’t end there. It continued once I arrived home to my much anticipated hot shower, Burgerville burger, and Wednesday night TV. I was looking forward to indulging in these pleasures to help me forget about the cold and wet hour and a half I spent waiting for the tow truck driver to arrive. I needed warmth, greasy and delicious food, and the pie maker. I got my hot shower, but the CMAs thwarted my TV watching. And E coli thwarted my comfort food. I spent most of the night expelling every ounce of comfort I had previously put into my belly just an hour earlier.

And my case of the Mondays didn’t end there either. My saint of a roommate gave her first (of many) rides to the bus stop on Thursday morning so I could get to work. We arrived with plenty of time and I moseyed over to the bench to wait for my bus (which was sitting just outside the station in its “I’m here early and am waiting to start my route” position). As I turned around and took my seat, the bus pulled out of its “I’m here early and am waiting to start my route” position and took off down the road, rather than taking the usual pass through the station, thereby causing me to wait in the cold another 15 minutes for the next bus.

You’d be clever if you thought my case of the Mondays ended there. And you’d be wrong. That evening, I’d pseudo arranged for a ride home from the bus stop after work. Plan A never contacted me, so I got on the bus, assuming I could call Plan B on my way home and tell her that her mission was being activated. The only problem is that my cell phone had died prior to being able to notify Plan B. So, there I sat, on the 64 Express to Tigard, with no phone, no money, and (again) wearing insensible shoes (you’d think I would learn my lesson). A kind soul on the bus let me borrow her phone to call my friend, only she didn’t answer at first. Then she gave me some quarters so I could use a pay phone if it came to that. Could it really come to that? What was happening to me?? Luckily Plan B got the message and arrived at the bus stop just in time to save me from a 3 mile uphill walk in the rain and ridiculously uncomfortable shoes.

So, my case of the Mondays began on a Wednesday, carried over to Thursday, and trickled on for the following week and a half, culminating in today, Monday, one of the most stressful days I’ve had in a very long while. I’ll spare you the details, but the day has included completing paperwork to buy a new car, picking up said car, taking it to the mechanic to get the stink out, getting to work 2 hours late, missing an appointment with a patient, eating only a PBJ and a piece of string cheese all day long, dealing with a possessed phone, and catching the red eye to New Hampshire for a long-awaited Thanksgiving holiday with my family. It was topped off by a middle seat on said red eye and leaving my headphones in my jacket pocket in the overhead compartment. I’m going on about 1.3 hours of neck wrenching sleep).

When it comes to my life, when it rains, it pours. This applies to all areas whether it’s stress, change (hopefully to be blogged about soon), problems with electronic devices, dating, you name it. No one ever said I was good at moderation. And if they did, they are idiots. The one thing I’m grateful for is that through this very trying week and a half, blessings have also poured. This experience has taught me to rely on other people and ask for help, which I’m not very good at. It has shown me how much the Lord is aware of me and cares about the little details of my life. He provided for me at every turn. I came out with a new car (at a killer deal), and a new appreciation for my AMAZING friends who were so willing to help me out. I can never repay their kindness and patience with me.

Despite my week and a half long case of the Mondays, I sit here in the Newark airport happy that it is Tuesday. I had a bagel and hot chocolate from Au Bon Pain (an old East Coast fave), I found my way to terminal A (despite the shady bus that took me through the underbelly of New Jersey), and I found a seat in the waiting area with no arm rests so I can lay down and get some shut eye. It’s a new day.

The Vote Didn't Even Get Baracked

You know how a few short months ago I was posting about being a procrastinator? And, how a few short posts before that I was going on and on about being forgetful? Well, those two great weaknesses came together to create what might be my biggest, and in fact only, regret in life.

I cannot vote tomorrow.

I am so ashamed to even write those 4 words. But, it's true. As a world class procrastinator, I sent in my Oregon voter registration form at the last minute of the last hour of the last day to register. I had to specially request that they post mark it for that day or else it wouldn't count. And, in my haste, I forgot to sign the registration form. I got it back in the mail the other day with a big yellow highlighted line where my signature should have been. Since I sent it in so late, I was unable to fix my mistake and send it back in as the deadline had already passed (like 30 seconds after the original mailing). Also, I was too late to request a vote by mail ballot from California. So, I am not able to take part in the most historic election of my 12 years of adulthood.

It's really a shame too. This is the sort of event that I might be telling my grandchildren about years from now. Of course, now Grandma Nay Nay is going to be nothing but a big fraud when she retells her story of how she helped elect the first African American President of the United States of America. Either that, or I have to admit that I didn't vote...gasp! I'm not sure which is worse, being a liar or a non-voter. I'm reluctant to admit that this isn't the first time this has happened. I also didn't vote the first year that I was eligible because I was away at my freshman year of college and didn't get an absentee ballot or make the drive down to the county where I was registered. I tried desperately to make up for it in the following years, as I was a HUGE advocate of voter registration (even going so far as to shame the non-registered girls in my relief society classes and giving a fist pounding speech about registering at the beginning of all of my lessons leading up to the 2004 election. This was before I was RSP).

I have a terrible fear that this joke (sent to me by both Ryan and Courtney) will turn out to be a reality and it will, indeed, be all my fault. Please forgive me in advance (or thank me if you are on the McCain/Palin train).



P.S. It's been raining since I woke up this morning. Hello frizzy hair, soggy shoes, and no power steering. Goodbye glorious Oregon fall with your breathtaking vistas, soft sunshine, and beautiful weather that I never got around to posting about. I will miss you.