The Case of The Mondays

"Monday evenings were boring," she said to the psychologist, as if this was the first time he had heard this particular weekday criticized.

"That's certainly one way to look at this, Mac.  Why do you think you feel this way?" asked Dr. Button.

"I don't feel this way anymore, Dr. Button.  No, certainly not," Mac said.

"And why's that?"

"I can't.  Not anymore," she said without hesitation.

Dr. Button was often, and for lack of a better word, bored by many of his patients.  He found them to be confused, neurotic souls who spent the better part of their youth complaining about problems that might occur in the future, instead of the ones currently percolating right under their nose.

"Mac, I'm not going to play this game with you.  We're here to talk about why you feel the way you do about these things.  Why you are disturbed by the mere existence of a certain night of the week.  Please.  Please try to make some attempt to explain that," he said frustratedly.  He was nearly out of breath by the time he had finished admonishing her.

"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know the answer to this, Dr. Button.  I'm surprised you don't already know.  Everyone knows.  It's been this way since 2001.  Wouldn't you agree?" she asked of him.

"You mean because of 9/11?"

"Yes."

"Because it was on a Tuesday morning.  Up until then, Monday nights were the end of an already boring existence?"

"Yes."

"And now, Mac?  Now what do you think of Monday evenings?" Dr. Button inquired.

Mac swallowed and looked down at her swollen fingers.  She had been biting her nails for the better part of the last two hours.  "I'm afraid of them," she admitted.  "I am afraid to go to sleep."

"Mac, this is an understandable casualty of 9/11.  There are thousands upon thousands of those stories of personal turmoil.  And this is just yours," he explained.

She breathed a brief sigh of relief before he went on to disqualify his comforting statistic.

"It is also an irrational fear, Mac.  One that needs to be overcome.  Do you understand me?" he asked.

"This could be crippling to your life.  You are applying what I call a preventative handicap," he said to her.

"So you think it's not real?" she asked as a tear streamed down the left side of her face.

"That's not what I said.  It's very real.  So real, in fact, there's a word for it.  Lunaediesophobia," Dr. Button remarked.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?"  she said as she shrugged her shoulders in surrender.  "You're telling me there's a phobia, a diagnosed sickness, for what I am saying?  I am not crazy!"

"No, you're not, Mac.  But not all bad things happen on Tuesdays," Dr. Button said.

"Columbine was on a Tuesday," Mac retorted.

"So was your birthday," he said.  "How 'bout them apples?"

"I don't like apples, Dr. Button!" Mac exclaimed.

"No, you certainly do not.  You certainly do not," he said as he slumped in his chair, resigned to his circumstances.