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Mondays, Gwen’s Story

December 5, 2011

Gwen hated Mondays.  Hated them almost as much as she hated insensitive people. Or breaking down on the road.

Lately, her life had been a series of breakdowns, usually preceded by a few (maybe more than a few) wrong turns.  That was funny because she always felt she was on top of things.  Her checkbook always balanced.  No cavities.  People liked her.

Still, the loves of her life all turned out to be roads that dead-ended.  Somewhere along the way they became unpaved, gravelly. But you don’t notice the bumps, the rough ride until too late and you’re covered in dust and grit and running on fumes.

It starts out great. You’re prepared, looking good. A slight breeze in the air. Each breath brings a sense of wonder, a giddiness too embarrassing to acknowledge.

Then something happens.  Red lights. A detour.  Traffic. An exit is missed.  Stopped for speeding. A broken taillight. And it rains and rains and rains.

Before you know it, what you thought was the start of somewhere turns out to be the middle of nowhere.

Nowhere.

And it’s Monday.

Gwen hated Mondays.

It happens, she tells herself.

Then it’s TuesdayWednesdayThursday and things start to feel normal again. She’s back in a routine. At work.  At home. The disciplines of responsibility take over.  Bills are paid. Groceries are bought and put away.  The fish get fed.

The worst is behind her.

A song on the radio triggers a memory of someone she once knew. Someone she’s lost touch with.  Funny how certain songs get attached to certain people. As if the universe is sending a message to you.  Hey, remember …?   And for those few minutes, you do. Intensely.

But the song ends, and so do the feelings.

That’s life, she thinks.  Pass it on.

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