You Won't Believe What I Did Yesterday Morning

Yesterday morning, my brain was flinging itself onto divans. It was traipsing through meadows in search of an elusive fawn. It was backstroking through an idyllic, mythical lake. It was drowning itself in a million figmental sorrows.

Plus it was raining.

I stepped outside with my NPR bag full of Spanish academic miscellany (which I hardly use since I'm not teaching now) and, armed with a flimsy fuschia umbrella, locked the door from the inside and pulled it to, thinking I would proceed to hop in my car and drive to work.

I was wrong.

As soon as I took a step towards my car, I realized that I didn't have my keys out. And when I realized I didn't have my keys out, I realized I didn't have my purse. And when I realized I didn't have my purse, I realized I had locked my purse (with keys) inside the house. And when I realized I had locked my purse (with keys) inside the house, I realized I couldn't get back into the house. And when I realized I couldn't get back into the house, I realized I had also left my cell phone in the house. And when I realized I had also left my cell phone in the house, I realized that I couldn't easily call anyone to help me resolve my dilemma. And when I realized I couldn't easily call anyone to help me resolve my dilemma, I realized I was adrift.

These realizations actually only took about 0.75 seconds to process.

So I did the futile things that people in like surreal situations usually do, ranging from berating myself to trying the knob to see if by some miraculous mechanical miracle it would yield. 'Twas all in vain. I stood there right outside the front door, watching the rain fall and soaking in the absurdity of life.

The rest of the story is anti-climatic, in a practical kind of way. After a few seconds of soaking in the absurdity of life, I went to a neighbor's house and was able to call my mom to relate to her my plight. I then called the department to let them know that, due to, er, delays, I would be in late.

Oh, and between my mom's arrival and my driving off into the sunset, I gave a tearful monologue on how much I despise having to rely on other people, how I hate feeling dependent and how I'm 27 and am supposed to be an adult. My mom, in so many words, said, "This is life. Get over it." And then I drove off into the sunset.