…don’t you hate it when they’re the same thing?
I firmly believe that every once in a while, the Universe sends a message to let us know that it’s time to take a step back, breathe, maybe go back to bed and pull the covers up over our heads.
Today was definitely one of those days.
After spending a crowded, chaotic, ultimately lovely, weekend with my brothers, culminating in a trip to Fenway Park to scatter some of my father’s ashes, I had to face the inevitable blues that come with a suddenly too-quiet apartment, plus the inevitability of the looming work week.
Mondays seem to be something of a theme here at SS&S. Perhaps it’s because in one sense they represent a chance for a new beginning, one we get fifty two times a year. I get that they’re ubiquitous and they happen to everyone. But when the inconveniences, irritations and indignities stack up as high as they did this morning, I should know by now that my best option is to turn around and go home and that that goes double when they happen on a Monday.
For starters, I set the wrong alarm on my phone last night. (I clearly wasn’t in my right mind, considering the trauma I’d just endured.) Instead of the usual M-F 6:00am alarm, I had managed to set a random 7:00am alarm with a completely different tone. When my fuzzy brain heard that, accustomed as it is to the sound it normally hears, my brain said, “that can’t possibly be for us. Let’s just hit the snooze.” At 7:15, the time I would ordinarily be leaving the house, I finally looked at the clock. The resulting adrenaline burst rocketed me out of bed and across the room.
Finally out the door, with a caffeine to blood ratio far lower than is safe for me to be out in public, I got to the corner to find out that the street light which directs the flow of traffic through the major intersection I must navigate on foot every morning, was not working again. I really wasn’t up for a game of “Frogger” just to get to the subway. I did my best Ratso Rizzo (“Hey, I’m walkin’ here!”) and managed to get across the street without injury.
After waiting for a train for ten minutes, it occurred to me that I should alert the authorities (my boss) that I’d be late, but was “on my way.” For my optimism, I was made to wait an additional fifteen minutes.
The first train to arrive was not the one I wanted but, I squeezed on, with the thought that I’d get out and take a cab from a stop along the way. I also stopped for donut holes for the office. (My mother taught me two key rules that I live by: 1. Whatever the occasion, always dress like you’re going somewhere better afterward 2. If you’re going to be late, don’t go empty-handed.)
Did I mention it was raining? Soaking wet, me, my soggy box of Munchkins and my sorely needed cup of dark roast, finally managed to flag down a taxi and pile in for the short ride to my office. The driver, who barely paused the conversation he was engaged in with someone on the other end of his phone to acknowledge the directions I gave him, also apparently believed he was driving a carnival go-kart, instead of a minivan. He used both feet to operate the pedals of an automatic transmission the entire way.
Thanks to the herky-jerky motion of the cab, I arrived, at long last, splattered in coffee.
Finally seated at my desk with my space heater comfortably positioned to dry off my cold, wet feet, I logged on to my computer only to discover that the network is down. In my entire office. (Everything we do is now web-based. What could possibly go wrong?) Our IT department has assured us that it’s their wiring issue and they’ll have us up and running in “no time”. It still wasn’t back up when I left at 5:00pm.
You might think that a day spent watching videos of Sam Heughan interviews, reading a lot of theories (both crackpot and plausible) on how and why Jon Snow may only be nearly dead, and checking Facebook and Twitter on my phone, would turn out to be a good one. You’d be incorrect, since I’ll have to do tomorrow what I could not do today.
On my way home, I did take some solace from the snippets of conversations I heard from my fellow public transit riders. They were all having terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days as well. See? The Universe was probably trying to tell them something, too. Not a one of us listened.
Oh well, there’s macaroni-shrimp salad in my refrigerator and a “Law & Order” marathon on tv. And in the immortal words of Scarlet O’Hara, “tomorrow is another day”. Tuesday will never be confused for Monday.
So, how was your day?