I CAN'T GET THERE FROM HERE!

Today I have a mammogram first thing in the morning.  The place is five minutes from my house, so I give myself fifteen minutes, just because.  I leave my driveway, turn at the end of my street, and ... DETOUR.  The town has the main road to the place shut down for road work.  It takes me thirteen minutes to get there, and I'm almost late for my appointment.

Apparently, I can't get there from here.

I decide to run my car through the local car wash before getting on with the rest of my day now that the frenetic mammo experience is done hopefully for 365 days.  I get to the car wash, but the lawn people are set up and are landscaping the tiny patch of overgrowth next to the building.  They have cones set up and yellow tape, and the entrance to the car wash is completely inaccessible.

Apparently, I can't get there from here.

After that fiasco, I run to the store to get dessert for a day at a friend's house for lunch and an afternoon of floating in her pool while drinking sangria.  I have to go around in a huge circle yet again to access the highway to get to her house.  I am just about a mile from getting to the on-ramp when a car decides to pull out in front of me.  I check my rear view mirror just to be sure because I could swear that there's no one behind me, and that would be correct.  There is also no one coming the other way.  Apparently, this asshole who is now in front of me just couldn't tolerate the thought of being behind me because, heaven forbid, he wants to make sure that I cannot go the speed limit.  He dawdles along at 25 mph in a 40 mph speed zone.  I'm trying, truly trying to get to the highway, but, between the road crew near my house and the idiot driver who desperately needs to be in the lead, I am wondering if he will also slow-poke me along the entrance ramp to I-93 to further my delay.

Apparently, I can't get there from here.

I look at the car clock.  I am now running late.  I-93 is a construction zone and has been for about three years.  This part of the highway always backs up when it's four lanes, but now it's down to two lanes.  Oh, and a statie has pulled someone over.  I guess that means it's actually a one-lane highway.  Very effective.  I putt along at about 18 mph on the 65 mph highway.  I guess I'll be running even later for my pool party date.

Apparently, I can't get there from here.

On my way home later in the afternoon, I encounter a slew of dumbassery: a lane hog who almost prevents me from getting on the highway, someone who stops dead on the highway to allow merging traffic to enter, more construction, and I almost miss my exit thanks to someone playing chicken between trucks next to me.  I can take another exit if I want to, but to miss this exit risks putting me into afternoon commuter traffic and the slow cooking of sitting in an immobile vehicle in 87-degree summer heat.  I do make the exit, barely, but am stuck behind, you guessed it, an elderly driver.  Yes, it's the kind of elderly driver who is every cliche ever spoken.  All I want to do is go home.

Apparently, I can't get there from here.

Once I'm home, I decide I'm not going out for the rest of the evening.  I walk to the landlord's house out front, but that's as far as I will venture.  I'm going to finish a puzzle, have some dinner, and read a book.  I am making every attempt to get to my Happy Place, and there is good news because ...

Apparently, when it comes to the Happy Place, once I am home in the safety of my own domain, I really can get there from here.