My Glorious Monday Morning

There's nothing better than a Monday morning meltdown on your way to work.

Honestly, I make every effort everyday to wake up on time, drive to work calmly and breeze through my work day. This did not happen today.

At 8:25 am, I dropped my peace of mind on the floor of my car while scrambling through my purse for my debit card and thinking, "All I want is a strong cup of coffee from Starbucks. I love my purse. It's new. It's black with braided handles. It's stylish and not big so I can use it all the time. It doesn't hurt my shoulder. Why hasn't anyone complimented by new purse? The lining is pretty. I'm not mad at the purse. Where's my debit card? All I want is coffee from Starbucks."

By the time I find my card, I have broken a frustration sweat and called myself an "asshole".

There. Right there. That moment right there. That, my friends, is the beginning of my glorious Monday meltdown.

So I head into Starbucks. Boyfriend stays in the car to read. I shouldn't be long....and I'm not. I see the long line but I'm insistent, "All I want is coffee from Starbucks." At this point, I'm scrambling through my mind looking for peace and optimism (forgetting that this asshole dropped it on the floor of her car). "The line will move quickly," I tell myself.

I stand behind this sweet, crusty, old man who is a regular...and a regular yapper. He once lectured me on the secret $1 cup of coffee from Starbucks. "It's a buck a cup." This nice man did NOT even speak to me, but I've already had (in my mind) the tantrum I plan to have if he DOES talk to me. "Hey! Fucker! It's a "buck a cup" at the donut shop next door. It's a "buck a cup" because there's only one friggin' sip of coffee in it. DON'T TALK TO ME!!!!!!"

I huff out of Starbucks - without coffee. I want to be able to go back there one day and not be embarrassed. You're an asshole, Ursula. I get in the car. Poor boyfriend. He knows I've lost it. I think he looked over his shoulder expecting to see my peace of mind on the sidewalk. "No coffee?" I rant about the old man. Side-note: boyfriend is reading a peaceful book about meditation.

The drive to work is quick (lucky for my boyfriend), but I (naturally) made snide remarks to every driver I see; especially the poor woman in a small black sporty car with the license plate "2SEXI4U". Boyfriend pointed it out. Poor guy.

BOYFRIEND: I hate people with personalized license plates.
ME: Me too.
BOYFRIEND: 2SEXI4U (Snicker) I hate that.
ME: (Finally noticing stupid license plate). Gawd! How pathetic. Five bucks says she's over 40 and struggling with the fact that she's lost her youth. Yeah. Over 40 and in Jenny Craig. Bitch. Or better yet, that's the plate you get when your husband leaves you for a younger woman. Women can have a mid-life crisis too, you know. It's called my husband is fucking his secretary so I'm going to get this license plate to try to convince myself I'm somewhat attractive even though it just tells the whole world I am over 40 and my husband is not fucking me.

Oh shit. I am an asshole.

Boyfriend and I get to work. Boyfriend is a champ telling me it's okay to stress out. It happens and I'm not an asshole. It helps, but it's too late. I still have no coffee from Starbucks and now I think every car in the parking structure is trying to run me over. Fuckers.

I head into work to really start my day...

Don't worry folks, I'm in therapy, and my peace of mind...it's waiting for me in my car.