I know I’m having one of “those
weeks” when I’m driving to work wearing my Friday casual jeans and suddenly I
panic: It is Friday … right?!
My work-week ends with my
cell phone waking me up in the morning.
Good thing I set it as a back-up alarm because I totally space out and
forget to set my regular alarm. I claw
my way through a slumberous fog to the sound of Calypso-like music,
techno-steel drums and marimbas, clanging me into consciousness.
Thank goodness I showered
last night before going to bed. This
morning all I have to do is wash my hair, slop on some make-up, and find clean
casual-Friday clothes. Since I wake up a
little later than usual, and since I am tired of my static-filled hair contributing
to the multi-shock conditions in my classroom, (okay, and since I’m frigging
lazy as all shit this morning,) I pull my hair back into a ponytail rather than
attempt to wash and style it.
Hair looks decent, I am
wearing a newer pair of stylish hiking boots (“stylish” meaning “not suitable
for hiking outside ever”), and I’m in my recently-laundered jeans. I leave a few minutes early, and I actually
have time to spare.
Good thing because
everyone decides that today is the day to drive like a decrepit jerk. Jackass rushes out in front of me near my
house and almost kills me with his sedan, Smartass rolls through the
stop sign and pulls her slow piece of shit SUV right in front of me while never
once getting off her cell phone for safety’s sake, and Dumbass tools along down main street ahead of my car and decides that today is the day to drive 28 mph in a
45 mph zone.
I finally break free about
two miles from work, and this is when the panic attack hits me. It is Friday … right?!
Red Rider’s only hit song Lunatic Fringe, which I have been
blasting at outrageous decibels, ends,
so I turn the volume down to a tolerable level and start to wonder if maybe I
should turn around and get into regular work clothes. I mean, the week started with the Beanpot
hockey tournament in Boston, involved a college lacrosse game two hours west of
where I live, and I am fresh back from a week-long work break after so many
snow days that I don’t even know what month it is anymore, let alone the day of
the week.
Is it Friday?
Shit, what the hell day is it, anyway?
Oh, crap.
Just when I suspect that I
have fallen into my own lunatic fringe, the announcer’s voice excitedly
proclaims, “Thank god it’s FRIDAAAAAAY!”
Thank god, indeed, because
I’m wearing my damn jeans today, and I am more than ready for this week to be
over. If I can just make it through a
few more hours of lunacy, the weekend can begin … finally.
