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.