The Monday that was

The alarm rang at 6:30am, and with surgical precision it was off again in seconds. I lay in bed for a few moments listening for rain and wind, analyzing the weather to determine what to wear today. I do this, lay in bed until the outfit is decided, because I can’t stand to waist precious time standing in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear when I could be under the covers instead. It’s also why I leave the closet open at night, so that I can choose my outfit from bed.

An hour later, I’m out the door leaving a clean kitchen and a sick husband at home. It’s serious sick, man-flu. It’s touch and go at this stage whether he’ll make it (or so he would have me believe).

On the road in the biggest city of the country means a 15-minute journey to the office on weekends, but 60 minutes on Monday morning.  Especially on the Monday that schools are back in operation.

It’s a busy day, as usual, today. Appointments with applicants and clients and emails need to be responded to. I’m out of the office for 2 days at the end of the week, so cramming 5 days of work into 3 is a tough one. Not to mention the preparation that still needs to be done for those two days.

At 4:30pm I meet with the staff member who called in sick. Off site, they tell me the personal crisis that’s happening in their world. I’m shocked and speechless at what they have been through, but can’t help but wonder where in my contract I agreed to become a counselor as well. It’s 6pm, shouldn’t I be home by now?

By 7pm I’m at the gas station, stopping for fuel for both the car and myself. Taking a deep breath before headed back on the road and finally ending up in my driveway at 7:45pm.

David, bless his heart, still isn’t well but did make dinner. This is why marriage works, because having a hard day with someone to come home to is so much more preferable than having a hard day and going home to a cold, dark home with no shoulder to sigh on.  We call our niece to wish her a happy birthday. We have a conversation about property, again, but it’s 9pm and my brain is starting to give up.

At 10pm I clean the kitchen up, again. Brush my teeth, while cleaning the bathroom sink, and despair at the state of the rest of the bathroom. And then remember that the laundry is still on the line and will be damp again due to the rain. And notice that there are still two tiles missing in front of the shower. I wonder when we’ll be able to put the house on the market.

I watch 10 minutes of the news, we grumble about reporters who get their facts from YouTube.

I hit the pillow hard, and fall asleep in seconds, and thank heavens for a home to call my own, food that nourishes me, and a husband to support me. I know that there are others worse off than me that experience worse Mondays. But I can’t help but feel that I am living the rat race.

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