The Wrong Side of the Bed
I’m not sure why, but I clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Perhaps it was the dream that I was mucking through swampland in India (is there such a thing?) and I was deeply concerned that it was going to ruin my socks or the fact that I didn’t get to sleep until 2:15 am. Whatever it was, I woke up this morning feeling completely inadequate it every facet of my life. So, I need to rant to expel the annoyance and move on.
I Hate It When:
1. People set up their sprinklers so that no matter what, sidewalk travelers will get wet. Especially bad when it’s the Jesuits. I feel like they should know better. You know, care for others and all.
2. The “new guy” at Metropolis has been training for 3 weeks now and seems to be getting incrementally slower. How does that happen? Is he Benjamin Button the cash-register version?
2a. Patrons at Metropolis order like this: “Iwant…uhmmmmm…a small coffee. Room? Yes, room. And do you have donuts (next to the freakishly large display of donuts)? Ok, I’ll take one of those. Which one? Uhhhhmmmmm, is there a chocolate one? Yes? Good. And do you have scones today? And I’ll take one of those pies? What are those pies? What? Did you say broccoli? I can’t hear you?…” Oh. for. the. love. of. god. Just order something and MOVE ON.
3. I can’t find anything suitable to wear. All of my clothes feel like they don’t fit even though they do, none of them match, and they all look horrible on me and I wonder why I bought any of them. Tomorrow, of course, everything will be fine.
4. You walk with a “group” on the sidewalk that becomes like your little racing bunch because you’re all walking the same speed and can’t get away from each other. The anger derived is directly proportional to the length of time you have to deal with these 3 people that you can’t seem to pass no matter what you try and who will not pass you. Ugh. Sidewalk etiquette is not what it used to be.
5. I’ve been waiting for Amazon to deliver a book which I just realized I never ordered. Nice.
6. Everyone around me seems inordinately chipper. Here, take half of my dark cloud and let’s be edgy together.
7. I hear the word “Wait.” This, I’m realizing right at this moment, is a function of unstructured time. I need to fix this one and tout suite. It’s starting to nibble away at my soul.
8. I have to deal with Loyola Library. I’m not sure why it’s even called a library as they almost NEVER have the books I need. What are in all of those stacks? I think it’s just recycled covers of books no longer in existence filled with packing peanuts. It’s like the Fraggle Rock of the biblio-world without the frivolous musical rumpus. And, inevitably, for the book I need which is sure to be obscure and checked out once every 10 years, some other fucker around here has it checked out indefinitely! Why are you reading Bordieu’s “The Rules of Art” and why will it take you the next 18 months to do it? GIVE IT BACK, NERD.This is exactly why, when they do have them, I keep them relatively forever. It’s like a found treasure. I just can’t let it go. (Thus, I make another nerd rant about me having the obscure book…it’s an ugly cycle, Loyola. Let’s make it stop.)
9. The “check engine” light comes on in the car. This was the beginning of the end for my good humor for sure. Two days I’ve been stewing about this one. I have to let it go.
10. My flip-flops are getting worn. They used to be cushy and comfortable. Now they’re like two oak planks strapped to my toes with a lovely striped band. My ankles used the “f word” the other day. It was a scene. But it’s too late in the summer to get a good replacement pair. Oh, my troubles run deep and wide as a glacial crevasse, don’t they?
You know, I started using these detoxifying patches a couple nights ago. You stick ‘em to the soles of your feet when you sleep and, supposedly, they draw out toxins. It’s a science experiment I’ve undertaken. I’m not sure they’re working, although my skin is super clear(er) (this is a relative measure as “red” will always be a complexion descriptor for me) and, despite my anger, I have a lot more energy…noticeably more. What I’m wondering is if they’re drawing out decades of pent up vitriol. They apparently only work on internal organs.
Do you think the liver stores vitriol?