Wednesday, August 17, 2011
TTT: Where ya going?
Back in the day, as in my day, meaning the 1970’s (not the 1600’s as my students seem to think as when I was playing classical music while they worked one day I had a student who asked me if the music was from my “era…”).
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. Back in the day we used to say this:
Where you going?
Crazy. Wanna come with?
Today. Was. Surreal.
Incident number one.
Waiting for my daughter to pick me up from work and drop me at an appointment. She is late. I decide to take deep breaths and relax versus worry or get edgy. I am sitting on a bench under a gorgeous, humongous tree and starting to notice the little things. A bird, A breeze. A cloud floating by.
BAM!!! A fucking black bumble bee kamakazies like a rocket into my forehead. Not just anywhere on my forehead, but smack dab bull’s eye center on my third eye.
How not zen is that?
So then I’m sitting there wondering if the Universe is sending me a message to pay attention and stop zoning out. Perhaps it is a sign that my daughter is late because she’s been in an accident.
I see myself spinning off into a world of worry and pull myself in. It’s just a stupid fucking idiot bee.
So I go back into relax mode.
Incident number two.
I’m almost relaxed when I see a car slowing down. But it’s not the cute little car of Daughter’s. It’s a bright metallic SUV with dark tinted windows. The passenger window rolls down and a full out tita barks out the window, “You fucking getting in the car or what? I haven’t got all fucking day asshole.”
As far as I can see, I am the only one outside and part of my mind wonders if there is any way in hell my daughter sent scary ghetto woman to pick me up.
Maybe I should have been nicer to Daughter of late.
Then I hear someone behind me, “HEY! I had to go to the bathroom.”
A big blalah of a guy comes from two buildings behind me. Not sure what he is doing on campus at 3 PM, but he’s the type who pulls his white T-shirt up over his beer belly to cool it off.
Incident number 3.
Daughter drops me off at my appointment. With my therapist. Which I started a few months ago when I thought the unbloggable was sure to overwhelm.
But since I don’t write about the unbloggable I guess I haven’t mentioned my therapist.
I walk into the office and go up to the receptionist’s desk to make my co-payment.
Hi. Psuedo here for 4 PM.
Ah, no. Pseudo. Last Name. 4 PM
Oh, here. Christie, right?
Are you fucking kidding me? Do I look so looney tunes that I don’t even know my name?
Meanwhile, I am thinking that that is exactly what the people in the waiting room are thinking of me.
Then, it turns out I don’t have an appointment. Not for this week. The receptionist explains that she only has one week in her front desk version of all the doctor’s appointments.
I tell her to call me after she talks to my doctor and to let me know when my appointment is.
I call Daughter to come around and get me.
My phone rings and the receptionist calls me back and tells me that they are going to ask my doctor if she can’t take me since I’m there.
Now I don’t know if she said that because she made a mistake and I actually did have an appointment and she is trying to cover her ass.
Or if she thinks I need to come in…
I go every other week and although I swear it was two weeks ago that I went last, I cannot help but wonder if the last week has been such a busy hell storm that it just felt like two weeks.
I tell the receptionist I will wait for my appointed time thank-you very much. I want to go home.
Want to link up? Apparently I am being very generous with the term "travel" today.