Today is the first day of May, but it is not warm outside. It is not even jacket-less weather. I hate the weather, in fact yesterday I really hated the weather. This guy:
Guy on phone at sandwich shop: How am I? Well, that’s a complicated question -do you mean right now, or in general? Because right now, Lisa’s got a really bad cold and is all set up on the couch and I just got back from a eulogy for a friend’s pop. So now I’m getting a coffee and then I plan on riding the bicycle at the gym -’cause that’s the closest I can get to heroin. How are you?
I was that guy yesterday. And I also was dealing with cold, windy, rainy, Frostburg weather on the last day of April. I woke up around 8 AM to head to my appointment with the optometrist. I get to the office a little before 9 AM (when my appt is) and they aren’t open yet. When they do open, at 9, they inform me that they doctor isn’t in until 10, that’s when my appt is. And in my head I’m silently cursing whoever told me 9 AM and caused me to lose an hour of precious sleep.
I go to the Country Club Mall which, sad as it is, has often become my sanctuary. Bon Ton, still my place of employment, is open early so I talk to my manager and a few co-workers and write a journal entry until I have to go back to the optometrist. I arrive, fill out all the paperwork, start looking at frames for new glasses, when they tell me that my insurance won’t cover another visit until July. Awesome. I get kicked off my Mom’s insurance when I graduate.
So I head back to rainy Frostburg. I go to my voice lesson at noon, screaming in my head the entire way about the terrible weather, and my prof tells me I can’t sing because I’m still sick. Great. Then I go to Chamber Choir where Sod makes me fake sing for the old lady that’s watching. During choir I am informed that Music History, which was supposed to be cancelled, was back on and being taught by my least favorite member of the Music Faculty.
When I check my email before poetry, I discover an e-mail from the editor of Bittersweet, the Literary Publication I’m being published in, and am on the staff of. She tells me the gala is next Wednesday and requires me to attend. I have a class.
That night, after not going to Music History, paying for dinner for a friend who I discovered I’m not really friends with any longer, and heading home in the miserable rain to work on my Asian & African Lit presentation, my Mom informs me that the law has changed and I won’t be kicked off her insurance until I’m 25 regardless of my being a student, my roommate tells me that she was the only one who went to Music History, so he didn’t teach, and the Bittersweet editor e-mails us once again to inform us that she’s an idiot and got the date wrong.