Friday, May 11, 2007
Struggles
This past Tuesday was not a good day for me. "Not good" in the sense of if Tuesday was an episode of Survivor (which I don't watch), I would have been kicked off the island - the island of Tuesday. And I would have been glad. I don't have any excuse for why I failed at living this past Tuesday, it was just one of those days where everything I did turned out slightly retarded.
It started when I woke up at 7:15, an hour later than my snooze button compulsion even allows for. I left five minutes after I should have been at work. Then, I decided to walk to the Brown line. I have never walked to the Brown line in order to get to work in my life. Why did I decide to do this? Clearly I am insane. Particularly since the Brown line is under construction and does not stop at my station. Fabulous.
So, seeing that the brown line was inaccessible, I walked about four blocks to clark to wait for the bus I would normally take. It came, I didnt get on because I decided it would be smarter to get a cab. (I eventually got to work, and beginning what would be four days of consecutive phone calls to my very tolerant co-worker, explaining that I would be late).
Work was fine. "Fine" in that I finished my prep for an upcoming trial - which settled not five minutes after I finished. Fine. I did absolutely nothing else for the rest of the day.
On the bus to Spanish I had the genuis idea to clean out both my work bag and my gym bag. I thought, "Hey, I have this seat to myself and I have ten minutes. Time to dump out all of my wordly possessions!" Unfortunately I was distracted by my Mom on the phone half through my endeavour. (Halfway in that my bags were cleaned out, but my stuff was all over the seats.) I never did organize my bags, in that I had to cram everything back into them as I flung myself onto the sidewalk two stops past Ontario.
My sister called right after I got off the phone with my mom. We fought over the strengths and weaknesses of living in streeterville. Part of me felt like giving in, but I have a little trouble with that in cases where 1) the argument is over opinion; 2) it feels like there is some kind of underlying power struggle; and 3) I am clearly better informed. (Streeterville? Seriously?) Thirty minutes later (thirty minutes of snarking later) I realized I was late for spanish. I hung up. She was mad. I ran to the elevator.
Twenty-nine floors later: Spanish class was gone. The Instituto Cervantes? Nothing but a dark hallway and empty boxes. So I went into one of my bags for my IPOD. Not there. Checked other bag. Not there. Feeling a little dead inside, I went back to the lobby of the Hancock Center, all the while digging through my things for my IPOD. Definitely not there.
I began to freak out just a little. Retreating to a wall, I sat on the floor and began to empty out both of my bags. I became that midgety girl wearing a business suit and trench, but no shoes (I had taken them off when I sat down) with two large, but empty bags, and lots of junk (ie: pencils, magazines, files, sports bras, socks, makeup, advil, etc) spread out around her. Oh yeah, and I think I may have been muttering to myself. I was a crazy bag lady. I am afraid I caught a glimpse of my future. I didn't catch a glimpse of my IPOD. It wasn't there.
In the end, I was saved by the miracle of the "internets" and a random act of kindness. A fellow CTA denizen found my IPOD and rescued it from whatever unsavory fate it may have suffered at the hands of the CTA or of those embittered souls forced to take public transportation every day. This kind woman posted my IPOD in lost and found on craigslist. By some miracle, random act of genuis, I checked craigslist. We connected and I now have my IPOD.
huzzah.
The only other contention I have with the resolution of the whole IPOD affair is that the person who found my IPOD was not the man I will marry. It was a very nice, but not-my-type, woman. (Sister, if you think about it, and think of our hometown, you will know the type.) For some, strange, deluded by Disney reason, I had this hope that the finder would be my soulmate, we would marry, move to Bogata, and live happily ever after. It was not to be, most likely because the losing/finding of the IPOD occurred on the Tuesday that I failed.
Also, when I got to the gym, the toilets were gone. Gone. That is what happens when you fail a day.
It started when I woke up at 7:15, an hour later than my snooze button compulsion even allows for. I left five minutes after I should have been at work. Then, I decided to walk to the Brown line. I have never walked to the Brown line in order to get to work in my life. Why did I decide to do this? Clearly I am insane. Particularly since the Brown line is under construction and does not stop at my station. Fabulous.
So, seeing that the brown line was inaccessible, I walked about four blocks to clark to wait for the bus I would normally take. It came, I didnt get on because I decided it would be smarter to get a cab. (I eventually got to work, and beginning what would be four days of consecutive phone calls to my very tolerant co-worker, explaining that I would be late).
Work was fine. "Fine" in that I finished my prep for an upcoming trial - which settled not five minutes after I finished. Fine. I did absolutely nothing else for the rest of the day.
On the bus to Spanish I had the genuis idea to clean out both my work bag and my gym bag. I thought, "Hey, I have this seat to myself and I have ten minutes. Time to dump out all of my wordly possessions!" Unfortunately I was distracted by my Mom on the phone half through my endeavour. (Halfway in that my bags were cleaned out, but my stuff was all over the seats.) I never did organize my bags, in that I had to cram everything back into them as I flung myself onto the sidewalk two stops past Ontario.
My sister called right after I got off the phone with my mom. We fought over the strengths and weaknesses of living in streeterville. Part of me felt like giving in, but I have a little trouble with that in cases where 1) the argument is over opinion; 2) it feels like there is some kind of underlying power struggle; and 3) I am clearly better informed. (Streeterville? Seriously?) Thirty minutes later (thirty minutes of snarking later) I realized I was late for spanish. I hung up. She was mad. I ran to the elevator.
Twenty-nine floors later: Spanish class was gone. The Instituto Cervantes? Nothing but a dark hallway and empty boxes. So I went into one of my bags for my IPOD. Not there. Checked other bag. Not there. Feeling a little dead inside, I went back to the lobby of the Hancock Center, all the while digging through my things for my IPOD. Definitely not there.
I began to freak out just a little. Retreating to a wall, I sat on the floor and began to empty out both of my bags. I became that midgety girl wearing a business suit and trench, but no shoes (I had taken them off when I sat down) with two large, but empty bags, and lots of junk (ie: pencils, magazines, files, sports bras, socks, makeup, advil, etc) spread out around her. Oh yeah, and I think I may have been muttering to myself. I was a crazy bag lady. I am afraid I caught a glimpse of my future. I didn't catch a glimpse of my IPOD. It wasn't there.
In the end, I was saved by the miracle of the "internets" and a random act of kindness. A fellow CTA denizen found my IPOD and rescued it from whatever unsavory fate it may have suffered at the hands of the CTA or of those embittered souls forced to take public transportation every day. This kind woman posted my IPOD in lost and found on craigslist. By some miracle, random act of genuis, I checked craigslist. We connected and I now have my IPOD.
huzzah.
The only other contention I have with the resolution of the whole IPOD affair is that the person who found my IPOD was not the man I will marry. It was a very nice, but not-my-type, woman. (Sister, if you think about it, and think of our hometown, you will know the type.) For some, strange, deluded by Disney reason, I had this hope that the finder would be my soulmate, we would marry, move to Bogata, and live happily ever after. It was not to be, most likely because the losing/finding of the IPOD occurred on the Tuesday that I failed.
Also, when I got to the gym, the toilets were gone. Gone. That is what happens when you fail a day.
E 3:51 PM
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