We all have our off days. When someone uses the expression “I woke up on the wrong side of the bed”, we nod in silent understanding. These days are horrible, but at the end we can always think “It could’ve been worse.” And it could be, but I’ll be damned if some days don’t just suck, regardless.
I’m a complainer. I have more off days than ones on point. I accept it and embrace it as a part of my storm cloud personality. Last night I was cranky, which is nothing new. This morning, this cloudy, chilly Thursday full of promise, I woke up in the usual manner: my alarm went off at 6 and I hit snooze as many times as I possibly could. The drive to the train station was better than usual, with light traffic. This always makes me question myself, as if the other drivers know something I don’t. In fact, as I sit typing this on the train, I’m worried about the drive home. Part of my Bad Day was the walk from work to Grand Central, during which the rain steadily built to a downpour. I didn’t slide my way onto the platform, however, which I consider a small victory. The problem is, rather, how this rain may affect my relatively perilous drive home.
Also, my keyboard is not cooperating, which is making it difficult to write this post about my Bad Day.
Back to the morning. I could tell it was a Bad Day when I scraped enough paint off the side of my car to paint a small house. Don’t you just love when that happens?