Can't Trust That Day

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 could leave and not take me.

Every other day, every other day,
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes
You can find me cryin' all of the time

My glorious trike is broken. I can’t begin to express my profound forlorn-itude, my piercing pissed offness, my utter agitation.

Was ist los?

Some big old weld snapped and now, now, the seat of my poor orange stallion is rockin’ a 90º angle. Not a respectable angle for zooming around the streets, riding rough over the back trails around the marsh or bopping up to the store for the paper. No.

I’ll tote my sad steed to the welders up on Sea Street tomorrow and see if he can be repaired.

Mega sigh.