An exceptionally bad day at work, followed by an exceptionally bad bus ride home, has left me hiding out in my back room, clad in my PJs, waiting for the day to end.
It started early. I had to be at work at 7am. I can think of other places I'd like to be at 7am - my bed, particularly, or in a bath, or a sauna, or a club, or a diner, or a gas station. Anywhere. On the moon, in court, or passed out in a park, covered in drool and wearing someone else's clothing... I could manage such things. But being in an office at 7am? No. Not when you have to wake up at 5:30am to get there on time, and not when you have to do this for three days in a row. It does things to my brain to mess with my sleep patterns..... bad things.
At any rate. Everything went wrong. I missed my bus. When I did get to work, everyone was confused. Lines were crossed, messages jumbled, and people were generally out of sorts. The entire day was like this, but we had so much work to do that I didn't leave until 5pm. I swear I nearly crawled out of there.
Then came the overdue grocery shopping at the expensive-yet-convenient grocery store downtown, and although I tried to pick light items, I nearly destroyed my hands trying to get that shit home.* I squeezed myself onto a crowded bus, and when I finally found a seat, the driver shouted that we were all to stand, file out, and load onto the bus behind ours.
I took a moment to think. Is he joking? The bus was full. The route was almost done. Surely he didn't just say that we all have to leave. People started to file out. I muttered Very Rude Things.
Defeated, I dragged myself and my heavy bags to the other bus. I thought I was in the clear when I finally reached my house, only to discover that I had left my very favourite pink gloves on one of the buses. Muttered more Rude Things. I knew that nobody would want to turn cute gloves like that into the lost and found. I felt very sad.
But the whole day wasn't a waste. My new/old organizational workbook was waiting for me when I got home, all packaged up and ready to be torn open. Plus I finally got to have Craft Night with my BH. We made Christmukah cards out of photographs, Claire Fontaine paper, dollar store ribbons, and double-sided tape. Behold:
Yes, that is me, holding a cutout of my own face. See, the intention was to put it on some sort of spring and have it jump out at the poor soul who gets the card.... Hey, I just said I wanted to do crafts. I never said I wanted to be mature about it.
Time to pass out. Christ, it isn't even 10pm. I've turned into an Old.
*This, I should point out, is one of the only times I find myself LONGING for a car with the sort of desire I normally reserve for my Better Half.
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