A Bad Day

It was bound to happen...this boundless joy, unending happiness, unrelenting ecstasy- it had to come to an end. Not that I dreaded it, not that I wanted it, not that I didn't enjoy the blissfulness any less - but I knew somewhere in the back of my brain, way down deep in the cerebellum (is it the cerebellum that is down deep - something to look up on the internet later), that one of these days wouldn't be so very wonderful.

I've actually had a few glum days. I don't know if this glumness was brought on by the last of my backpacker friends departing on her big tour (leaving me here all alone to fend for myself among the Aussies), or the dreary and now COLD weather that signals winter is upon Sydney, or my roommate telling me he doesn't absolutely, positively LOVE the beaut-iful bookcase I bought (and assembled with little assistance from anyone) for the front room. But something got me feeling a bit sorry for myself - a totally new experience in this land of constant joviality (did I just make up a word?).

So, I've been doing my best to putter around, hold back the tears of sadness, fight the urge to lash out in rage, and generally get over this hump - while trying to explore its source so I can better prepare for next time. Then, it happened.

A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (Alexander doesn't have that copyrighted , does he? What if the FCC or Copyright Club come after me - THAT would be a bad day).

Blah, Blah, Blah (fill in a not so great day at work). So, I head home and decide to stop at the store to pick up food to COOK myself dinner. I start my jaunt home - my mind reeling with thoughts of what I could have done differently, should have said nicely, fights I pretend to have in my head to stand up for myself, when I get to my street (Baltic Street). I step off the curb heading toward the right and hoping to walk down the middle of the road - a habit I have picked up from my rule-breaking roomie - when BAM, crash, clink, roll, ouch, and a few choice words a lady from Texas doesn't repeat.

I am on all fours hoping the potatoes aren't bruised, praying the satay sauce bottle hasn't cracked, and wondering what the burning sensation in both heels of my hands could be, when I hear footsteps and a girl's voice (ok she's about my age) call out "Are you ok?" As I pick myself up quickly and wipe of my pants, she starts explaining how embarrassing that is and she's done it herself and how she always hopes that no one sees and wants to know if I'm ok again. After I assure her several times that, yes, I am ok and no, I don't need help, but thank you for stopping. She FINALLY turns back up the street to continue home. I am thankful she has finally left because I don't know how much longer I can hold back the tears from utter and complete embarrassment as well as sharp, burning, prickly pain - oh and now stiffness as I try to walk - coming from both knees and hands.

As I limp home, groceries in tow, I can only think of Alexander and his day. I successfully brush off a roommate as I throw groceries in the fridge (not their places), change clothes to discover I have ruined a $15 pair of hose, hobble done the stairs (yet, the left knee which is the one bleeding is definitely more sore than the right), wash my soon-to-be scar out in the kitchen sink (since brushed off roommate retreated to the only bathroom in the house to heal his wounds from my wrath), and decide that the burning sensation in my left knee has not subsided, like all other burning, which must mean that there is a flesh-eating bacteria in there that needs to be killed by rubbing alcohol!

I grab my purse and slam the door in order to make it to the corner store before they close. Two blocks later, I find out I'm too late. So down to the main drag to find a pharmacy...7:01 pm is too late in Australia for such places to be open. Guess it's off to the nearest grocery for some sort of liquid something. Just my luck - THEY'RE OUT! After receiving several odd glances from customers in the massive line (umm...no wonder there's a massive line - this store has the whole suburb in their grip of open lateness with promise of most products/food even if the selection is limited to one item per product and the staff is only helpful enough to point to the top shelf and say "There's no extras" then look at you as if to say 'DUH!'), I decide my chances are hopeless here and leave with my money in my pocket. I walk (ok totter..) a few blocks to let off steam and decide that I am hungry and the bruised potatoes will have to be satayed another night.

A burrito and a few blocks towards home later, and I'm beginning to think I might have overreacted about the flesh-eating bacteria thing. A good sleep and a walk by the corner of incident, and I see it could have been a pothole, the worn-down heel of my shoe catching the curb, or lack of winning the fight in my head that caused the whole thing. But now that a day has passed, I can look back and laugh (even if I still have to hobble up and down the stairs). At least I have learned not to go to the grocery on an empty stomach and (hopefully) to let things go a little more easily so that they don't spill over on the curb of life.

Though I'm not looking forward to seeing my neighbor again - of course the good Samaritan who ran 50 feet back to ensure my safety would end up living right next door. Hopefully, I will be kind and stop to help when I see someone fall (although maybe I'll leave out the how embarrassing bit).

Bad days come and bad days go but it's what we learn from them that makes the next years of our life wonderful, marvelous, terrific, really good days (Thanks, Alexander)!