I've never been a fan of Mondays

Blogging today is a bad idea, mainly because all I'd like to write is, "life is sh*t." Yup. That kind of day today, for me. I've never been a fan of Mondays, anyway, but even unemployed, I'm finding that as I crawl into bed on a Sunday night, I'm not looking forward to the next day.

Of course, it didn't help that I crawled into bed at midnight last night. I'm such an old fogey these days, I'm usually long past counting sheep by 9pm. Midnight is like staying up all night for me, and given that I just naturally woke up at 6:30 this morning, I did not get enough zzzz's. Top that with the stupid, f'n heat we have going out here in sunny So Cal, my tired legs (I don't think I need to say why) and my blue mood, and this Monday is like a sh*t sundae, minus any cherry on top.

Then (then) in my blue mood and all, Dad calls with this chipper-yet-hollow ring to his voice. He had that same tone yesterday, actually, and I thought it odd then as much as I did today.

"How's it goin'?" He asked (I pictured him grinning the way he does after a good piece of pie).

"Fine, if you consider that my life sucks," I replied. It's a game I like to play these days called "milk it for all it's worth." My father is a good sport and will play along (for the most part).

"Well, I guess I shouldn't tell ya then," he continued. Pause. In an even cheerier voice, "I crashed last week and broke my collarbone." He then went on to tell he how, where, how mad he was, how mother drove to SAG behind him as he walked the bike back to the house (oh, good grief), and how Mom then took him to the emergency room (well, thank goodness she got him there just as soon as he could walk his bike back to the house!)

As he was talking, it hit me. Last week? I think I just about blew a gasket. Lucky for my father that he's injured or I'd have been much harder on him, but last week?!!! Apparently, he didn't want to upset me. How unfortunate for him that his timing has never been spot on, and naturally, with my mood today as dark (and dank) as it is, I burst into tears.

I worry about my parents all the time (their health and well-being) and the possibility of Dad being injured on his bike. He's in great shape and all, and most men 40 years of age don't have so much as a smidgen of his stamina, but he's no spring rooster, let's face it. A broken bone can not be a good thing, not to mention the pain he's been in. Of course, he just had to tell the story (brag) about how he refused any pain pills from the doctors. (Sigh) I think I mentioned on here recently that he's a good ol' boy in certain ways. Well, this is one of them. He's stubborn, thinks he's John Wayne or something, and I think, on some levels, he just likes to suffer.

Anyway, no matter how many jokes he made about his accident (including, "Hey, now I'm like Lance Armstrong! I can ride the Tour de France!" - groan), I didn't laugh. I just cried...well, sobbed actually, like a sickened sea otter (pathetic). I then demanded that he hand the phone to Mom.

"Mom?"

"Hi, I'm here. We just had lunch at you know where." My mother has a way of being in the present but, then...kinda not.

"Mom?! I want you to do me a favor, okay?"

"What?" she asked, like we were suddenly characters in a mystery novel, and I was about to give her some hidden clue.

"When you get home, I want you to get every damn bike in the house, including my Lemond, pack them in the car, drive them to the Cumberland River and throw them in it."

Mom just laughed and stuttered, "I can't...well...I know, I worry about him all the time...but you know how he is." If the woman would do what I ask just one time...grrr. I gave up.

Mom did get me to laugh (through tears and sniffling), when she cracked, "Too bad they didn't put you in a wheelchair so you could ride it around the block." She said this to my father who was holding the phone as she and my sister were helping him out of the passenger seat of my mother's car (he needed assistance since his arm is in a sling and he's in lot of pain...cause he won't take pain pills and all, remember?).

Dad repeated the joke to me, only he didn't hear all of what she said. So, his version was, "Did you hear that? Your mother wishes I was in a wheelchair!" And then...he laughed...like it was the best joke ever! (Oh...dear)

My sister, sweet little thing that she is, was oddly silent during all of this. I'll have to call her tomorrow to get the real skinny, but I'm thinking she's not finding any of this all that funny either. We do, after all, love our Dad. But he and Mom...well...they just march to their own full-blown orchestra, I suppose.

As for the rest of my day (after the call), sh*tty. Um, did you really expect it to go up from there? I took a nap and job searched, and now I'm groggy and pissy all over again. I also went grocery shopping and suffered the heat. I drove, by the way. I'm not commuting by bike again until it gets cooler. I just can't take the valley's scorching punishment and, with my asthma, I have to be picky about how much pollution I'm willing to suck into my lungs.

Now, I've got to pop off and get dressed (somehow). I've got dinner tonight with a good friend that I haven't seen in a long time and whom I'm looking forward to seeing. He's been out of the country, is only back for two weeks, and offered to meet me up the hill for dinner at one of my very favorite restaurants. I'll offer to pay for my own dinner, but he won't let me. That is not why I'm excited to go. Nope. I'm looking forward to another nice evening with a good friend, someone else to focus on (which is how my evening was last night as well). It's that whole "pulling my head out of my ass" thing that always makes me feel a little better.