My week starts with the Great Insect Battle around the house, where silverfish/centipedes and spiders seem to be invading my territory. Then, I have to rearrange my room at work to keep my students semi-engaged as the year winds down. I am plagues by silly little things, like running out of iced coffee, forgetting my checkbook, and knocking over a container full of writing utensils. I even get an entire large glass of red sangria dumped on me by a nervous, first-day waitress.
I do, however, take an evening to have some friend-time and some culture-time. It seems fitting when I overshoot my destination (on purpose) and (accidentally) find myself across the street from a park with sculptures and artwork installed in it. I leave my car in the strip mall lot, cross four lanes of semi-busy traffic on foot, and walk immediately to the back of the park. I know this park. I've been here before. I know exactly what I'm looking for, exactly what I need.
Tucked into the back of the small park is a labyrinth. I don't have time to walk the entire thing, even though no one else is there. I mean, I could hop right to the middle, and no one would know or care or witness my debacle. However, just seeing it, knowing it's there, and having it to myself is enough to put my mind in a much better mood.
Suddenly, my week is less hectic, more peaceful, which is kind of ironic since this labyrinth is smack-dab in the middle of a busy city. Best of all, the week closes, and it's no longer one of "those weeks.
