What the Heck?

I am not a huge fan of the Carpenters, as in Karen and her brother*, but I keep looking outside and the tune to "Rainy Days and Mondays" just keeps running through my head. It is, frankly, about to drive me stark, raving mad.

Then I looked up the lyrics and I thought "GEEZ. Why didn't everyone in 1970's America not see this as a big huge lyrical billboard, contracted directly by Karen, saying 'I am so friggin' depressed that I'm about to start starving myself to the brink of death'". Really. The lyrics are THAT depressing.

Which just depressed me that.much.more. Shouldn't I have done something to help her? Were cookie-grams around then? Shoot, even a fruit-bouquet might have helped.

But, enough about her. Now let's talk about MY Monday.

The one that started with a child with a stomachache that was the longest stomachache in the history of them. Child claims it has come and gone since we arrived back in Dallas in late December. More gone than come, but still. Now it seems to have settled and taken up residence. And the cost of the medicine the pediatrician recommended, after insurance ponies up? $75/month for a pill a day. Tomorrow the peditrician will be getting a second phone call requesting a consult with her fav pediatric GI guy or gal. For $75 I can visit with them and see about resolving the PROBLEM, not covering it up with medicine.

So, when I actually showered pre-nine a.m. today, in anticipation of the doctor's appointment, I realized my clothes need to be dried. The dryer? Quit. Stopped. Pooped out. Mike found a burned prong on the cord. Can you say "electrician"?

That's not to mention the dishwasher arm that broke the week Mom passed away that has caused me to exponentially add paper plates and cups to landfills across America. And contract the driest hands in Texas, hands that look at least 65 years older than they are, thanks to many, many, many, many sinkloads of dishes.

Add in the clog in the shower/sinks/toilet line beneath our master bathroom, which has rendered the toilet a belching machine** every time water is turned on in that room, and I have had it to about here.***

Today, in the laundry room, I had an outloud talk with the devil that went like this:

ME: "Devil. Get behind me. I'm quoting the Bible here and I'm pretty mad, so just move on. I don't much like you anyway, but this is just ridiculous."

DEVIL: Silence.

ME: "I'm going to take the fact that you aren't responding as impotence."

DEVIL: Silence.

ME: "Well then, that solves it."****

Sometimes you just have to have a little talk with the evil one and tell him where you stand. Then he can go stand somewhere else besides every room in your house.

I'm pretty sure God chuckles at me daily, probably multiple times, and this was one of them. He knows I don't stand down real easily and he knows how frustrating this is. When he tells me I was misnamed "Jill" and was really supposed to be "Job, Jr.", then I'll begin to worry. For now, I'm standing on the rock and writing a LOT of checks.

And, come next Monday? I'm guessing today will be a long lost, distant fuzzy memory. And, just to be sure it all goes right, I'm already praying for sun.....


*Poor guy. Does anybody really know his name? What a pity.

**SHH. Only Mike and I know about this. It makes me giggle a little. If the kids knew about it, every neighborhood and elementary school in Dallas would have to schedule a field trip to come have a look-see with the boys. SHHHH.

***I'm motioning above my head about three feet, which makes for a total of about seven feet of disgust.

****I probably should have added a bad rendition of "Jesus, Take the Wheel", but I won't do Carrie Underwood that way. Even though she looked like a pimp grabbed her, did her hair/make-up and dressed her for the Super Bowl.