So, it’s Monday morning again, either the first day of the week or the second (depending on how you categorize that crazy anomaly Sunday), and I’ve spent the morning since six AM sitting on my parent’s veranda watching my two sisters and my mother gather around the coffee maker, each watching each drip of the black liquid drop into the pot, gripping empty coffee mugs with white fingers, greeting my yell, “Is the coffee ready yet?” with menacing stares and mutterings (the ability of humans to verbalize pre-coffee evidently stunted). All I can think about is how I have nowhere to go. And I’m in such a great mood, pre-coffee, this morning, this Monday morning, this wonderful Monday morning.
Now, I’m not going to disparage the only ladies in my life. Truth be told I found their pre-coffee ritual analogous to three dope fiends waiting in the hallway for their dealer the OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!!!!! But, I can remember the days where an extra large Dunkin Donuts coffee (cream and sugar), and maybe a Red Bull, was not enough to enamor my body to a Monday Work Day. I remember the days when I’d spend Sunday’s half-comatose on the couch in front of the TV eying the clock progress, dreading the point when I knew I had to go to sleep, and the next second my alarm would roust me for my Monday morning. Monday’s would seem to last for a month, Tuesday’s were a little better, Wednesday’s I was halfway home, Thursday’s were spent tamping anticipation, and Friday’s (if I didn’t have to work Saturday mornings) were an eight hour build up to a five o’clock orgasm. The air on Saturday morning tasted as good as a fine aged cheese.
I know my mother and my sisters love their jobs. I know that when I worked full-time for someone else, I did not. I remember hating ever single second of my first three careers. And for those of you who know me, and as an indoctrination to the world of me for those who do not, I am unable to hide my emotions. What you see is what you get. So, I can’t help but take solace in that I’m awake at six AM on Monday morning and as I am typing this blog I feel happy to be alive. I’m sitting on my veranda: watching a garbage truck tipping over a dumpster across the street, a school bus zoom passed with kids hanging out the windows, ladies file by the house on morning walks of dogs and selves, listening to NPR, smelling the crisp, damp morning air; and I’ve realized that finally, after years and years of wandering the desert of the uncertain, I have found a watering hole that suits me.
Now, is my bank account suffering, oh hell yeah. But, I’ve found discovering what I love to do is more important than money. In these tough economic times, when you hear about people losing their jobs and unable to find new ones, you can be bogged down with the plentiful amount of sad stories: of families losing houses, losing hope in marriages, declaring bankruptcy, people forced onto the streets, etc. This morning I read a story in The New York Times, which may have prompted my mood, about a family who has lost a lot but discovered a lot about themselves, and this article inspired me to appreciate things in my life I do have, and people in my life I do love, which includes the three ladies huddled around the coffee maker.
In this moment, I’m happy. Out of life, I think that’s really all we can ask.
But of course, happiness is fleeting.
So, check back with me on Tuesday…