Mondays.

I hate Mondays.

I fucking hate them.

Not for the normal it's time to go to work reason.

Take a moment and think about that time you felt the loneliest. When you felt trapped in your own mind and you could not get out of it to find anyone or to let anyone in.

That is often what it feels like to be a single parent when your kids are away. There is a silence that is deafening. There is no one to cook for. There is no one to drive around. There is no one to watch a movie with. There is no one to mess up your house. There is no one to get up for to get on the bus. There is no one there.

Yesterday there was. And you were so busy. But today? Today there is not. There is nothing.

But you still got up and went to wake them up because you forgot for the 847th time in a row. Then you did their laundry again – just because. Then you spent the day regretting yelling at them when they were there. Wondering if by you asking them over and over and over again to turn off the damn X-Box and then finally shutting it off in the middle of a very very very important game of Call of Duty would damage them forever and hoping that was not the last thing that they thought of.

You hope they had a good day at school. You hope they made it home ok. You hope they did their homework. You hope they practiced hard at football. You hope all the football gear made it safely back in the shared bag. You hope their dad picked up the prescription. You hope that they are feeling better and that someone knows that they like their back scratched. You hope they have a lap to lay on or someone to stir their ginger ale just right.

You hope there is nothing so awful that you miss because it’s Monday and Monday is not your day.

I hate Mondays.