Before heading out the door an hour and a half later, I scanned the fridge and found delicious cauliflower/dill soup and some leftover beet greens. I threw them together in a bowl with some freshly boiled quinoa… Total yum. A-ha… Good day.
Six blocks from home and three bites into my breakfast, I slammed on my brakes, sending bowl and breakfast flying, porridge all over the floor and interior of the car. Yeah… Bad day.
I did not hit the car in front of me. I did not get hit by the car behind me. OK, good day.
Despite allowing an entire extra hour to get to my appointment during morning commute, I was late. So late, I didn’t have time to pee before the appointment. Potentially REALLY bad day.
An hour later, I made for the bathroom and discovered my bladder had spared me, for once. My clothes were dry. I had a nice, long pee. Good day.
Back at my car, scraping up the porridge puddle, I found copious splatter underneath the steering column, and a wilted, semi-desiccated beet stem draped over the brake pedal. I couldn’t reach that far into the car and had to leave it all there. Indeed, a bad day.
Then I was rudely reminded that beet stems come from, well, beets, when the stems left pink splotches on the grey upholstery of my car. Increasingly bad day.
I was, of course, starving by then and found a little Mexican place a few blocks away. On the wall, there was a framed article touting the food. Encouraged, I ordered a grilled veggie burrito. I loaded back into my car and (parked) took a bite of my burrito. Well-seasoned rice, guacamole, cheese, some tomato… Quite delicious. Mmmmm, a good day.
A few bites in, it became clear they forgot the vegetables. I’d already loaded in and out of my car 3 times and now it was raining. Unable to convince myself to unload again, I ate the rest of my rice burrito and waited for my stomach to bloat. An unfortunate, bad day.
Getting on the freeway, I spotted a hawk sitting motionless on the top of a pole encircled by the on-ramp. Hawks are special to me, some would call them my totem animal. His presence, especially in this ultra urban place, felt like a gift. A very, very good day.
As I headed north, the rain got harder and harder. Visibility dropped a ton and everyone slowed way down. I kept catching myself gripping the steering wheel. A crappy, bad day.
My favorite Led Zeppelin song came on the radio (Fool in the Rain, wouldn’t you know). I blasted the music, my sternum vibrating with the bass drum. A fine, good day.
Two hours later, I was still on the road. It was the middle of the day and traffic was just crawling. My day was eight hours old and I’d spent four of them driving. I couldn’t decide if I should pull my hair out or cry. Just a tiresome, bad day.
About ten miles from home, the freeway finally opened up and I spotted another hawk atop another pole. It was a two hawk day. A truly excellent day.
Rolling from our parking lot to our apartment, a gust of wind blew back my hood while simultaneously blowing a bucket full of water off the roof, onto my head. Yes, a ridiculously bad day.
Soggy on the ramp outside our front door, I imagined Dean greeting me, as he sometimes does, on his knees just inside the door, welcoming me eye-to-eye, arms open for a hug. A huge smile took over my face. Such a good day.
I opened the door and found Dean not in the entryway but in the office, on a business call, his back to me, too involved to even nod hello. Sigh… Kind of a bad day.
I wheeled to the kitchen and had a big glass of fresh, cool water and a juicy, red bell pepper, which I bit into whole. Not such a bad day.
Then, I suddenly realized I hadn’t peed in more than four hours. Dammit. This time I was sure to be soaked. A truly bad day.
Yet once again, I was totally dry. Will wonders never cease? A miraculous, good day.
And people wonder why I find ‘How was your day?’ such a complicated question.