I'll make a confession...I don't mind Mondays.
I did when I was a kid. I hated leaving the weekend behind and getting back to school. But by High School I was more comfortable in school than at home, and so I didn't mind Mondays anymore.
In College I never minded Monday either. I went to a Christian College and so there were no Sunday evening parties to distract me or cause me pain.
As a professional -what seems like a lifetime ago now- I liked every other Monday. The weekends I had my daughter...that Monday was always bad. I hated when she left on Sunday night, and I spent half the next day in a stupor of pain and sadness. The weekends when I didn't have her I welcomed Monday because it meant that this weekend I would have her and the sooner it began the better.
My job as a mortgage broker wasn't hard, and so I didn't mind the office. I am an early riser by nature so I didn't care about getting up early.
I've never minded Mondays. Until now.
I am homeless. I am jobless. I see my friends griping about going to work and the age-old complaint about Mondays and I have to admit I am jealous. All I can do is go online, put out more resumes, check the job openings and feel the depressing emptiness of another dead-end job search settle on my shoulders.
This morning it hit me hard. I am a man. I am a dad. I fought hard for my Bachelors. I did the right thing and stayed in my daughter's life at great cost. And I can't even find a decent job.
And the President...the man charged with righting this ship...is busy helping the economy how? By Tweeting "#ROAR" to Katy Perry last night at the VMA's, that's how.
This morning he'll probably be busy planning his next golf outing. I'll be looking at the ten bucks I have in my pocket, and trying to figure out how to eat, get gas, and spend some time with my daughter all the while making it last until Friday, when I get my enormous $169 royalty check from Amazon. (Thank you to those who downloaded 71 copies of Remembering America in June!)
I wish I was in my office, complaining about bad coffee and doing what everyone else does...dreaming of Friday.
I wish my life looked normal. I wish I had made my daughter breakfast this morning, and then sat in the drop-off line smiling at the other parents who take something so innocuous for granted. I'd give anything to be "normal". If God said "Listen Kid...I'll make a deal with you. I'll send you a job but you can't ever write another word again. Not a book, not a blog, not a tweet. That's the deal, take it or leave it." I'd take it. I want to make a living as a writer. I should be making a living as a writer, because I'm pretty good. But I am not refusing jobs because I believe my big break is around the corner. I'd trade my dreams for the ability to make my daughter's dreams come true. Writing is an escape for me. It's the only thing -besides my fatherhood- that I can look at with pride. It's a safe-haven for my soul in an otherwise unsafe world. But it's not a sacred cow.
I wish I was sitting in my car, driving to some realtor's office with some donuts and coffee and a handful of brochures, getting ready to sell them on the idea that I'm the guy they need for their customers. I really wish I was teaching school somewhere, making a difference in some kids lives, before they all turn into Miley Cyrus.
But I'm not. I'm trying not to cry, if you want to know the truth. I'm trying to figure this thing out for the 2 millionth time. I'm clinging desperately to a frayed rope and yelling for help.
And from the White House on down...I get no answer.