Snarly Times

Honestly, I don't know what's going on here.

These recent mornings I have had to wait around for a call from the temp agency about my so far non-existent job on the Intrepid (I'm a backup person, you recall). This means I can't get dressed or do anything until 10 am. I can't get dressed because that would be the day that they WOULD need me, and I'd have to get undressed and redressed. Luckily, I actually prefer to hang out in my bathrobe in the morning and read the papers and drink Diet Coke - and in case you're wondering, I don't have home delivery. I just throw my raincoat over my nightgown and run to the deli. Hey, the other morning I saw a guy there buying the papers and his coffee in not only his pajamas, but his bathrobe and slippers. At least I'm better than that.

Anyway, the reason I feel all snarly is that Wednesday morning the agency called around ten and said I was off the hook for the day, so I went to shower and get myself together for yoga at noon (another reason I hate being on call like this is that I prefer the 10 am class because it doesn't break up the day so much). I got showered and dressed and off to the bus stop...and things started going completely awry.

You have to understand that I like to get to yoga about ten or fifteen minutes early to sort myself out, take off my jeans, get my mat positioned, do some quiet stretching...yoga type stuff. It takes just about 12 minutes for the bus to get from my house to 3rd Avenue, so the 11:32 bus is just perfect.

Only it wasn't yesterday. First we met up with a gentleman with a walker - and of course, this required opening the back door and letting down the platform and getting the platform back up and situating the gentleman. Well, okay. However, three blocks further on, there was a lady with a walker...

I knew the man was getting off before I was because I heard him say so. But I wasn't prepared for the lady getting off before me too. Not to mention that between the gentleman and the lady we encountered a garbage truck that was picking up, evidently, all the garbage from the last fifteen or so years from a building near the firehouse...an activity which required the bus to sit through FOUR green lights. By this time I'm getting completely furious, but on the other hand, I'm also feeling terribly guilty because, really, how can you be furious at poor people who have to use walkers?

As you can perhaps imagine, by the time I got to yoga I was about the least serene person you have ever met...which was not helped in the least by the fact that because I was one of the last few to arrive, the second floor room was full and we latecomers had to hike up to the third floor. This was fine for all the nice little girls from NYU, but left me starting class gasping for air. NOT one of my better yoga days. (The only bright spot in the day is that there was a gal in class who's WAY worse at yoga than I am. I know you're only supposed to be involved with your own practice, but really, I was grasping at anything to feel better and she was right in my line of vision.)

Then tonight I think my subconscious mind simply rebelled against all this eating at home I've been doing. I planned to make my usual fallback dinner of chicken with stuffing and a vegetable and managed to burn the bejesus out of the chicken. Actually, it's my own damn fault for reading while I cook something quick like that. It's not a problem when I'm roasting a chicken or making beef stew, but when I'm making something that has to be turned every seven or eight minutes and I think oh, I'll just read one more page and THEN I'll turn it... And I had forgotten to turn the burner down after I browned the damn chicken. Of course the house filled with smoke because the filter on my exhaust badly needs cleaning. So then I threw the by now WAY too crispy chicken out (black is not a good color for food unless it's truffles) and made a hamburger. And I managed to set it on fire.

Obviously, my brain is trying to tell me to go out for dinner - or at least order in. And when I have some money, I will.

I can't decide what to do tomorrow...whether to take my regular bus and take my chances, or take an earlier bus...well, I won't think about it today. I'll think about it tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day. (Cue GWTW theme song and...cut.)

Love, Wendy