I can't be sure how C.S. was feeling, but I'm pretty certain that whatever intoxicating cocktail of emotions it was, it was just too much for him to process on a Monday morning. When John woke him up, fully expecting one of those fabulous hugs, he was met instead with reluctance. Then C.S. hid under the blanket and said "I don't want to look at your face."
John was hurt. He had been flat-out, coldly rejected. And he knew too well how he felt. Unable to control himself, he responded, "Can't you see how that makes me feel?"
How I wanted to step in and remind John that, well actually no, he can't, remember. He has trouble taking the perspective of others. But knowing it and experiencing it, is very different.
It had been a long Monday ever since. We arrived late to school. The scout meeting went waaay too long. The two hour agenda was boring enough as it was, but complicating that, the room is large and echoes. It hurts his ears. C.S. just couldn't attend at all. And then...well, suffice it to say it was an overwhelming Monday—a jolting transition, a difficult new beginning. Monday's are notorious for that very reason.
It reminds me of the song, appropriately enough by The Mamas and the Papas:
Monday Monday, so good to me,
Monday Monday, it was all I hoped it would be
Oh Monday morning, Monday morning couldn't guarantee
That Monday evening you would still be here with me.
Monday Monday, can't trust that day,
Monday Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way
Oh Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be
Oh Monday Monday, how you'd leave and not take me
Silver Lining: None here tonight, not to be penned anyway. I trust, from practice that it is there, that it exists, but I'm tired. I leave it to find in the morning and this blog, open ended.