In the spirit of “quit yer bitchin’” the second time I called Chubby’s my wallet was there, safe in their safe.
So I borrowed Grandpa’s car to pick it up and somehow the security system activated and it took me about fifteen minutes to figure outhow to deactivate it and get the key in, so I could drive proudly away.
I, the picture of grace.
The most random but critical stuff seems to be suddenly blowing a fuse.
My car’s not working–the battery, apparently, has expired. Or if it’s not that, it’s something worse, like the alternator. At any rate, I flat REFUSE to spend any money on it until I get my October paycheck. September is just too tight to be biting my nails over a repair bill. Fine; I can ride the train, take the bus, or ride my bike.
I lost my wallet–or can’t find it. Strangely, I had just been musing the other day about how nice it was that I’ve owned that wallet for 6 years and pretty much never even misplaced it. Then Monday night Grandpa picks me up at the train, we grab burritos from Chubby’s (where I had the wallet), eat ‘em at her house, and she drops me off afterwards. Sometime in that simple outing I lose my wallet and my cherished coffee cup. No, Chubby’s didn’t have it. Nor has anyone apparently tried to use any of my cards, and if they did they’d be in for a big disappointment anyway. So I’m not jumping to the cancellation/replacement process yet, in the hopes that somehow the lost items will turn up right in front of my face. On the other hand, we know that the only thing that will make the wallet appear is cancelling the cards.
The insane feeling this creates makes me check absurd places like the microwave, the refrigerator, and under the bath tub.
To top it all off, it’s freezing in my office at work. I’m not just talking “keep a little cardigan at the office like Mr. Rogers.” No: my office is a REFRIGERATOR. Suddenly the “facilities” people decided to make life for some of us a lot less “fácil” and crank up the air conditioning, so that these offices are now three times colder than they ever were this summer when it was 100 degrees outside. I get so cold my fingers can barely type and it gets hard to concentrate–nevermind the wool socks and extra sweater I’ve pulled on. I feel like I’m surviving a plane crash in Alaska. I start thinking about cannibalism, how I guess if I had to eat a coworker I’d probably take Lisa because she’d be the juiciest–and she’s a vegetarian so she’d die first. Today I had to move my office hours en plein air. But then the breeze came up and I couldn’t take it any longer, so I angrily got on my bike and rode my pissed ass home.
To my house where I can’t find my damn wallet despite spinning in obsessed circles. And since I can’t find my wallet, it’s pretty hard to go to a coffee shop and chill out about it all, get some grading done, and sip a chai. Instead I have to sit here listening to Rico torturing the mentally unstable cat next door while she howls bloody murder. Then I run outside and squirt Rico with water–the one thing he hates–and come back in, only to face the fact that I’ve now wasted more time looking for my wallet, trying to get warm, and writing about my misery because I can’t concentrate on grading.
Whatever.
