Yet, it's all going to be okay. You took off one of your layers and so you're not sweating so heavily, you walked to Bart and it got you downtown in the same amount of time as if you had caught the bus, the morning is lifting into a cold, dry evening. You had time to check out a book at the Main library, hydrated at a water fountain, you had time to peruse the photography under City Hall, soak up some brilliance. Things will work out with your dad, you're about to meet up with the someone who's always on your mind, this night's blooming into something wonderful, you can feel it, it's happening. At twelve-thirty tonight you'll run to catch the last bus home, make it.
Friday, November 4, 2011
One of those days when you finally make it out of the door after searching for quarters in every corner of the house, halfway up the block you realize you need to go back home because you've forgotten something, so when you make it to the bus, it's pulling away from the stop; it's one of those days you run for it but don't make it. You've worn too many layers, one of your contacts is blurry because it's chipped or folded, you hurt your father unintentionally and you woke up to your computer broken. The tea didn't hit the spot even when you reheated it and the speeding ticket you got in Texas has yet to be sorted.