I Just Need To Get It All Out

Y'know those days when everything goes wrong? Like, when taken individually, those things aren't the end of the world, but when strung together in sequence, they make for a tear-fest at night?

I just had one of those days.

I get to work late this morning. I'm cold. There's a lunch-and-learn seminar in the conference room, so I have to take my lunch break an hour late. I don't get to take my daily walk to Fed Ex, because no one has any Fed Ex packages. Half an hour before closing time, somebody dumps a huge project on my desk and says, "Get it done before you leave." I rush around to try and get it done, and then, as I look up and realize that I'm out of time and I STILL haven't closed up the office for the night and I'm going to be late getting home, the person changes his mind about the project, anyways.

I don't remember if I turned my heater off, and if I didn't, I'll get yelled at for it tomorrow. I remember this right as I get back to the seminary.

I get home, and it's my night to make dinner, since Adam is in class until 9. I decide to make French bread pizzas— and I need French bread and pasta sauce. I also want to get some more flour to make cookies.

I go to Chelsea Market, and as I try to walk in, a man in a fancy suit stops me and tells me the Market is closed "for a private party." I look around and see rich people and limos. Huh.

So I head for Western Beef, the cheap grocery store near the projects. They're out of French bread. Double huh.

So now I have to walk to the only grocery store around with French bread: Whole Foods. I love Whole Foods, but I hate Whole Foods, if you know what I mean. It's expensive and crowded and on the complete opposite side of home. So while I walk there, I figure that I'll call my parents, to make me feel better.

I call, and my mom tells me that our cat Buster died today.

A man almost runs me over with a bike (because he was running a red light and I was crossing the street during a "WALK" signal like a GOOD PERSON) and he yells at me. That's right, HE yells at ME.

I get to Whole Foods. It is packed. I buy bread, pasta sauce, and flour. I wait in line for a very long time. As soon as the cashier calls "NEXT!" I go to the register. "How would you like to pay?" she asks.

"Cash," I say.

"Well, you need a different register for that," she says.

Great.

Finally, at a different register, the cashier puts all my stuff in one bag. I'm thinking, "Huh, one bag? That's a lot of heavy stuff for one little brown paper bag." But I don't say anything, because I'm tired of being yelled at today.

On my way home from Whole Foods, I stop at Rite-Aid to buy a birthday card for my sister and a sympathy card for my mom (she's very sad about the cat). I wait in line for another million years. As I approach the counter, an old lady cuts in front of me. Somehow, holding a large case of beer and being old means you get to cut EVERYONE.

I walk outside. I'm ready to go home.

My bag handle breaks. The bag hits the pavement with a crash.

I swear, and look inside the bag. The pasta sauce jar has smashed, and the bag of flour is split in half.

I cry.

However, I can't wipe my tears, because I have a broken bag filled with sticky pasta sauce and flour in my hands. I hoist the heavy, wet, sticky, floury bag into my arms and drag it home. I get to the gate. I've forgotten my swipe card.

I cry some more. I walk all the way around the entire perimeter of the campus so I can go into the front gate, the only other entrance to the campus, which is located on the complete opposite side of the entrance I just tried to access. I think I might have gotten sauce on my brand-new wool coat. I certainly got it all over the rest of me— my shoes, my pants, my shirt, the ends of my hair.

Right when I get to the gate, the soggy bag in my arms gives way entirely, and pasta sauce and flour splatter all over the ground. I look up just in time to see Adam's entire class walking out of a building to enjoy their ten-minute break. I am covered in crap, and everyone on campus is staring at me.

Adam helps me get upstairs. He hugs me and tells me it will be all right.

Now I am tired, hungry, and the owner of two greeting cards with pasta sauce all over them.

I had this whole great post planned out for tonight— I really did. It was totally deep and meaningful. And now it'll have to wait, because I only have one thought in my head right now:

I hate this day.