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.

well ha-bloody-ha.

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?

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.