"Looking for Alright…"-Secret Machines

Karen Carpenter sang "rainy days and Monday's get me down." Here it is Monday, and I'm not feeling like the king of the world either. Oh, no need to pelt me with pity beads just yet. Give me my 15 minutes of anonymity.

I like rainy days. Rainy days are cool. The cleansing chill from the sky. God washing all my filth away. Today, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and I'm kind of down. Whassup with that?

I blame Monday.

The reality is it could be one of many things. I spent all last week out of contact with the world. At least most of it. The vacation was good, but I allowed myself to inch away from the outside world. I mean I went out 3 nights last week. I went down to my local plaza to write, but I didn't have any human interaction. I played voyeur. I watched the real humans interact while I took notes.

Take Note: This is a
graphical representation
of me taking notes.

Last week I didn't meet up with either my writers' group or Bible study group. That wasn't my fault. They didn't meet. That's this week, I'll make these. But Sunday, my alarm didn't go off either. I didn't make it to church. Yeah, I know. Wa! Wa! Wa! Somebody give me a 750ml bottle, a blankie, and a bikini model. Just stick me in the corner. I'll got to sleep peacefully, I promise.

I blame MyUnwife.

A few months ago it was easier. The divorce was a fresh gash, still sticky-new with the uncoagulated blood of blame. Now it's supposedly healed. I mean it has, but the divorce limps in every time, first guest at my little pity part, and it's always complaining because somebody else drank all the whine it brought.

Even now, I'm a first grade teacher. I need to call on somebody, and the divorce is first to practically pop out of his chair, arm flailing left to right, "Pick me! Pick me!" Nobody else gets a chance. And the divorce isn't always the answer. Sometimes it's just as simple as I'm alone too much.

The divorce want's all the credit though. Center stage diva to all that ails.

I blame me.

I spoiled it. Ok, you can pelt me now.

Directions to the Pity Pelting.

I'll be the font of malcontent

outside the theater. Can't miss

me: personal raincloud, blotting

out joy. Yeah, that'll be me.