the day started out well: i got to push back my wake-up time to 5:30 a.m., which felt wonderful, although there is something unsettling to me about spreading an hour of prep-time between the last half-hour and the first half-hour of the next hour, instead of just within one hour. that sounds mighty compulsive, doesn’t it? yes. more on that later.
so at 6:30 i was not only ready to go but coffee-d and lunch-packed and jacketed and basically standing at the door. (when i get used to the commute, i won’t be quite so eager to leave in the mornings.) i went early and chatted with the people who wait for the bus right before mine.
when that bus arrived, and they asked why i wasn’t going to take it, i just smiled serenely and pronounced, “i like the next one better.” thinking to myself, wouldn’t it be ironic if that bus didn’t show up, haha.
my new neighbor explained to me that this happens sometimes, and so with her help, i took the 7:03 which was headed only to civic center, and transferred at the golden gate bridge, took the next financial-district-bound bus, and still managed to get here 3 minutes to 8:00. so it all worked out fine.
however, my entire commute this morning was riddled with stress about being late to work, plus the added bonus that writers often have to worry about: how do i drag a metaphor out of this life lesson?
it’s there, if you want it. i don’t.
so here’s a question for you, the reader: is it conscientious of me to report the missing bus to the transit authority, or just obsessive? or both?