Mondays, Mums, and Mom

Because Mondays are my day off, for me, it’s always a disconcerting way to start the week, one totally devoid of any real responsibility or need to be anywhere outside of my apartment. By early afternoon, I’m restless, irritable, and feel useless: Shouldn’t I be doing something?

I miss Monday afternoons at my old job, because even if I didn’t have a pressing deadline, or a meeting to go to, I was still needed somewhere. I had a responsibility. What I wouldn’t give for some metadata to work on right now! Because even though that was the most boring and mundane aspect of being a content specialist, it still was important for each website. Now the most mundane aspect of my job is a toss-up between stuffing napkin holders and refilling ketchup bottles. Yeesh.

So in recent weeks, I’ve developed a new routine of heading out of my apartment, into the real world, every Monday afternoon. Usually, like today, I take a book to Starbucks. If I’m feeling ambitious, sometimes my journal gets pulled out of my bag and I attempt to write. Just an hour sitting in public, drinking my chai (or my pumpkin spice latte, this week), and reading my book, and my restlessness begins to calm, and I don’t feel quite so useless. I should probably be taking this time to apply for jobs, but that has the opposite affect on my psyche.

But today my Monday ritual got me so fired up that after two hours of reading, I finally had to put the book down. (I’m reading The Women’s Room, by Marilyn French.)

Pedestrian Perils

Since I spent a large chunk of the morning hiding behind my hair because I couldn’t keep my eyes open, I decided I better make a quick Starbucks run. (Now, spare me the Starbucks lecture—it’s only a block away from my office. Get off my back.)

So, granted, I’m a little sleepy, and granted, I was checking my voice mail, but I was still aware of my surroundings as I started to cross the street. I had the right-away. The little walking man was blinking at me as I stepped off the sidewalk. I’m almost halfway across the street when I am forced to jump backwards because a bus turning left was barreling around the corner, ready to run me over. (AM I INVISIBLE? I’m wearing a bright red shirt. What the eff.) Seriously, though, I had to leap out of the way. I didn’t think I was capable of leaping, but apparently when it’s a choice between death by bus and leaping, I’m a leaper.

My “ohmygodi’mgoingtodieonthestreet” thought process was abruptly terminated when I made eye contact with the bus driver as I leapt out of death’s way. She was glaring at me. Excuse me? You almost murdered me because you’re speeding around a corner, not paying attention to pedestrians crossing the street, and you’re glaring at ME?

I hate that bus driver. I have a sneaking suspicion that if she had actually run me over, she would have just kept driving.

I was so shaky, cranky, and irritated that not only did I almost die by bus on a Chicago street, I got a dirty look from my potential murderer, that when I reached Starbucks I went into panic mode and bought one of those giant chocolate cookies with my cappuccino.

I’m not hungry. I don’t want a cookie. I had French toast for breakfast. But considering I made it the whole block back to the office without being run over, and my $4 cappuccino was only half-full (seriously, Starbucks?), I deserve this cookie, dammit.

It might sound like I’m joking, or exaggerating slightly, but seriously, I almost died. My heart is still racing.

I’M AWAKE NOW! THANK YOU, BUS DRIVER!