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Mondays, Armand’s Story

December 12, 2011

Armand hated Mondays.  Hated them almost as much as going to the dentist.  As much as overcooked cafeteria slop. Almost as much as drivers in an oncoming lane turning in front of you.

Lately, his life had been a series of turns.

To a new job.  From an old relationship.

Was he turning the right way? Or was each turn bringing him further from where he should be heading? Maybe the right things were on their way and he just needed to be patient.

Patience.  That reeked more than Mondays.

What was so special about patience anyway? Wasn’t persistence worth more?   And being tenacious?  What did giving up ever accomplish?

Still, the accomplishments in his life all turned out to be yellowed bookmarked pages.  Started in passion, ending with insignificance.  Projects in a room filled with carved hopes and painted dreams.  Tiny flashes in a blazing universe.

And you don’t notice until the landscape’s paint dries, it’s still an empty room.

It always starts out great. You’ve studied, know the lines, the moves.  Each stroke carries a sense of wonder, and giddiness too embarrassing to acknowledge.

Then nothing.  The response that never comes.  The silence that never ends.   But you’re patient and as persistent as the rain. And it rains and rains and rains.

Before you know it, what you thought was the start of something turns out to be the end of nothing.

Nothing.

And it’s Monday.

Armand hated Mondays.

It happens, he tells himself.

Then it’s Tuesday rolls into Wednesday rolls into Thursday and  it starts to feel normal again. Back in a routine. Gas up the car. Call mom.  The disciplines of responsibility take over.  Pay bills. Buy groceries.  Walk the dog.

The worst, behind him.

A song triggers a memory of something he wanted to do, wanted to become. Something he’s lost touch with.  Funny how certain songs get attached to certain times of your life. As if the universe is sending you a message.  Hey, remember …?   And for those few minutes, you do. Intensely.

But the song ends, as do the feelings.

That’s life, he thinks.  Pass it on.

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