Week

Lonely weeks are quiet, still, empty.  No one meets for chats or pops-over during a lonely week.  All lonely weeks can offer is dull TV chatter, dog barks and growls, clattering ice from the machine, distant airplane drones overhead.  And the I'm-lonely thoughts.  Which swivel around in the swivel chair.  Which drip tears in the coffee in the swivel chair.

A brave lonely week asks a gal to call a relative, who doesn't answer, requires a response to volunteer, starts an exchange with a well-loving sister, and finally sends a girl off to church.  A church where she's sure she knows a few.

But remember it's lonely week.  The ones she expected, aren't there.  Amid several possibles, no one is there.  

Lonely week takes her back to her usual church, her usual know-no-one church, in desperate search of a someone, anyone, to chase the lonely away.  But remember it's lonely week, and this church...

Hold everything.  Lonely week squeezes a gal into a seat just beside.  Nancy.  Hello Nancy, I'm Kathy.  What?  You've just started a group?  For women?  Three blocks from my house?  You're inviting me?

Here's my number, and my lonely week.  I'm coming.  I'll be there.

And now a new not-lonely week is starting.  Not-lonely week has some somebodies in it.