Good times.

Yesterday had a certain death-by-a-thousand-cuts quality.

Just as I was running late to catch my bus to campus, I got an email revealing that one of the people who was supposed to be writing letters of recommendation for my many job applications had not, in fact, sent any of them off yet, though the deadline for many had already passed.

Jane was also on day three of being notably less than her usual happy-go-lucky self (both day and night version), and I had several student meetings scheduled that promised to be filled with recriminations over my insufficiently clear instructions about what I expect of their written work. Steve was having a crummy day himself and had to inform me that he was not available to be supportive just then. So I sucked it up and hurried off to face my mutinous students.

In fact, they turned out not to be mutinous at all, to my pleasant surprise, and class was also very enjoyable. Hooray! That happy interlude, however, soon drew to a close. I failed to get any response to my politely frantic email to Delinquent Reference. Then a strange woman struck up a conversation with me just as the bus was pulling up, so that I failed to get a seat. It was very very crowded and extremely hot and I got quite carsick, though fortunately we arrived at the station just in time to avoid any of the fully embarrassing sequelae that might have been.

None of that is so very terrible, I suppose, on reflection, but it was certainly trying. 

In any case, today was vastly superior. Last night I fell asleep on the sofa at around nine thirty, worn out by all those not actually so dreadful events. Jane obligingly slept through until seven and seemed as happy about it as we were. I got D.R. on the phone and determined definitively that yes, she was indeed very delinquent, but also that she was in the midst of repairing the situation as we spoke. The weather was beautiful, Steve did all the dishes, and I baked cookies. So many cookies. Too many cookies, really. Would you like some?

Steve suggests that I should contemplate the terrible karmic yo-yo that I can expect to experience this weekend. "Perhaps a pigeon will shit on your head!" he says. "But then you will find five dollars."

I can hardly wait.

Comments

[Matt Jacobs]

I'd like a cookie.

[Parenthetical]

Puking on a bus is one of my most embarrassing memories. I'm glad you were spared that indignity...and that the week has turned around!

[Yer Mum]

Pigeon poop hair is seriously undervalued at $5. It is at least the pedestrian equivalent of puking on the bus, and should come in closer to a $100 find on any reasonable karmic scale. But I haven't found any cash at all yet, and it's been 15 years.

[Betty m]

I'll take a cookie. I have both puked and been puked on in a bus but no money found yet.

[anapestic]

I don't believe I have ever been shit upon by a bird. And I find money ALL THE TIME. Sure, it's always in my pockets when I'm folding my laundry, and, well, now that I think about it, it's probably the same bit of money many times in a row since it tends to just get forgotten in another pocket, but, still: found money! And no bird shit!