+TYPED OUT-

+NEW DIRECTION-

No one is perfect.

Kenneth knew it. Still, the idealistic man wished to find someone expectational. For years the man tried, like Mondays' and Luces' uncle, to find intellectual women with a good background. By background, he meant a stable family unit, good education, and a healthy friend circle.

The man then sought a partner without scars. He didn't want mental issues, childhood trauma, or borderline behavior to spoil everything. There was nothing worse than being in a relationship where both suffered from past traumas. Kenneth also forgot he bared scars that someone else might wish to avoid.

He concluded it was better to be with someone who resembled him, but the man realized being with a replica of oneself was tiresome and boring.

None of his relationships worked out. The problem was Kenneths' unreasonable desire for perfection, his version 3.0 of embodiment. Then the fanatics came along, and Kenneths' barometer was in chaos in front of these women, almost devoting a cult to him.

Ironically the woman he fell for was the total opposite of almost everything on his checklist, but she seemed more balanced than most. Monday saw and treated Kenneth as she would any guy. The man was virtually happy to meet someone who didn't know or care about his work.

The conversation with Greta opened his eyes. She was right; he wasn't happy alone but content hiding.

Kenneth didn't fear commitment but failure.

He didn't fear love but heartache and rupture. A good thing; it demonstrated he was human too.

Kenneth pushed Monday away at the first incident because he acknowledged he was willing to give her more than he ever did. Now he was back to being alone without happiness, and unlike the other times he ended a relationship, he just couldn't dust it off.

Three weeks after the Berlin Buchmesse, Kenneth was a souvenir, a fling in Mondays' mind. She was thankful, though. The woman imagined how the rupture would have been after six months or a year with Kenneth. The reflection made her laugh; they would never have held that long. They had nothing in common, and opposites rarely matched long-term.

"A packet, as usual?" Asked the shopkeeper of the small grocery store where Monday brought the little things missing at home, like the days tin can of concentrated tomatoes.

Monday looked at the shelves and the images of damaged lungs and skin on the cigarette packets. She wondered how and why she smoked.

The how-part was easy, parties and social gatherings, the occasional cigarette became an ice breaker. The woman would ask for a cigarette and find someone to talk to at the same time. It then became a packet a week, and Monday began to distribute to those in need on the street or at work. Finally, the nicotine endorsed the role of the comforter as she made it her frustration outlet. Monday smoked her failures away: Her job, men, and her writing. All blew up in smoke.

As she stared at the packet, she realized it never solved anything while smoking. The appeasing feeling only lasted the time of a cigarette. She had spent enough money, which she could have used for something more necessary.

"No, thank you, no cigarettes today."

It wasn't because of Kenneth. The woman just didn't see the point. Monday brought two lollipops instead and left.

A woman gave her a leaflet for Zumba classes that she stuffed in her bag before hurrying off. Monday never went to the gym. She hated the idea of sweating in a group or using machines people sweated on, but the leaflet was for online courses. Also, they cost the price of a cigarette packet for one month.

Still, in writers' block limbo, the woman needed an occupation. Monday spent her days procrastinating and listening to Luce, who had a list of grievances against doctor Watkins.

"He's such a know-it-all," she complained.

"His motorbike makes so much noise in the parking lot."

"His car takes up two spaces," she would say when the man took his car.

And when he took an interest in her work progress, Luce cried, "I shouldn't have told him I wanted to be a chief nurse. He keeps asking me questions when he does rotas like I'm a doctor."

That day Luce banged her head against the wall when she got home, "I'm crazy. Why did I tell him that?"

"Tell him what?" Monday asked, turning back on the sofa to watch her cousins' circus.

Luce drooped her lips as she said, "that it's my dream was to see the Nutcracker at the Garnier Opera, and the guy showed up today with tickets. Can you believe that? Like I've been waiting for a year to buy a seat, and he debarks, and voilà. "

Monday shrugged, "great; he made your dream come true. Go, enjoy, sis. "

"Non, no, never," Luce exclaimed and slumped down on the sofa next to Monday.

Monday chuckled as she noted how the doctor managed to have her cousin speaking in tongues, "why not? You've always wanted to see this opera there. Go!"

Luce turned to face her, "are you out of your mind? He's my boss."

"And?"

Luce widened her eyes and made her head slalom from side to side, "well, I can't go on a date with my boss."

Monday was perplexed, "I don't get it. Who said it was a date? ㅡis there something I don't know?"

Luce laughed nervously, "Ha, as if me and doctor Watkins. He isn't," she paused, "come on, he isn't my type; he's yours."

"Excuse me. How is your boss, my type?" Monday inquired.

"He's tall, dark-skinned, intelligent, and he reads books, etc. Eniyan rere [good guy] you like."

"I don't like good guys. My guys are twisted as fuck. Look at Kenneth; good guys are your turf, Luce."

Monday's cousin was so convinced of her theory that she made the author pick her up just to present the doctor to her. One didn't need to be a matchmaker to understand the doctor had already set his eyes on someone.

For the romance writer, it was just a matter of time before the revelation and Luce discovered or accepted what has really going on between the doctor and her.

Monday enjoyed watching Luce running about like a headless chicken. She wondered if she had the same behavior when a man entered her life. The woman forgot the world crisis she provoked each time.

Monday found another passe-temps beside the Zumba course. Also, she read not just any book but Kenneth's, and she had to admit all was not nonsense. Notably the part where he suggested picking five goals. Not life goals, but five aims that one could attain in a short lapse of time. And they had to be easy because failing them could harm one's improvement scheme self-esteem, whereas achieving simple objectives would push the person to want to do more and better.

Monday chose:

1. 15min exercise three times a week.

2. Eating one fruit a day.

3. Calling her parents once every fortnight.

4. Cooking twice a week.

5. Write a chapter a week.

The guru was right; managing those simple things made Monday feel as though she did something significant with her time. Luce took off her mother's hen cap for the first time in years, and she could complain about doctor Watkins while Monday cooked.

Mondays' parents were surprised by her calls at first. She was their only child; it made no sense to hold a grudge. Their relationship deteriorated at her first book success, but years passed, and they were getting old.

As for Zumba, Monday found herself doing three times one hours of the addictive course.

"Come on, Luce, join me," the woman said as she mimicked the instructor.

"It's my day off. Let me laze about," Luce said as she went to the kitchen to make coffee, only to find the croissants, coffee, and juice were already there. Some good came out of Monday's encounter with Kenneth. The woman found a new meaning.

Obsessed by the idea of becoming a writer, the woman forgot about the other joyful but straightforward things in life. Monday appreciated the solitude that allowed her to reconcile with herself.