Manic Monday

I am glad it is Tuesday. Monday turned out exactly like those cat posters predicted. Unless you are a school guidance counselor posters lose their appeal when you are an adult. My wall was covered in pages from Tiger Beat and Bop. I also cut a few pictures out of Geriatric Times. If you haven’t been following along, I had, what some would call, a bizarre crush on Kenny Rogers. I danced my to The Gambler when I was in elementary school. He looked better back then. Nowadays, his plastic face would scare young children.

Maybe if “Lady” played on my alarm clock instead of an obnoxious beeping sound I wouldn’t have overslept yesterday. My 14-year-old son’s ride was already waiting outside when I sprung out of bed. I opened the door to apologize, braless, one eye open and with my hair sticking up in every direction. My morning didn’t get any better. I needed coffee, but forgot to clean my favorite coffee mug the day before. We were already late. So, I quickly removed the lid and tipped the mug over in the sink. I didn’t realize that yesterday’s latte had turned into cottage cheese until it plopped with such force that it splattered on my face, shirt, the wall, counter and floor. Then, I took my kids to school looking like a molting duck. I would later discover a hole in my down coat. I had been shedding feathers with every step.

I was having a “woe is me” day. I snapped out of it mid-afternoon as I sat in a small funeral home listening to one of my best friends give her father’s eulogy. (Wow, that blog post took a sharp left turn.) He died suddenly last week. My friend spoke so eloquently about their relationship and her love for this man. She even managed to crack a few jokes through her tears. Her father would have been proud. On the drive home I thought about my ridiculous complaints that morning. It’s easy to get caught up stressing about the small things in life. At that moment I thanked God for giving me that amazing friend and for Monday.

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