Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Wicked Wednesday

Sociology is rational. God is not.
God knows the very moment we are born.
Madeleine L'Engle, A Circle of Quiet

You know how I coined 'Sunday Night Syndrome' with my sis to describe that peculiar angst one feels before they go back to work on Monday morning?
Wicked Wednesday is all mine.
It means:
it's the busiest day of the week.
there are a thousand phone calls
you can't put people off to next week the way you can thursday and friday
did i mention the phone?

I also had to be at work for an 8 am meeting (the stuff of nightmares for me, a non-morning person).
I awakened at 4, 4:30, and 5 am, to check I was not late. Then I fell back asleep and dreamed vivid, horribly odd dreams (devils. over flowing toilets. messy hallways. what? WHAT?). 
I finally gave up and got myself into the bathtub, ice pack on my tired eyes, at 6:15 am.
I was dressed and out the door, hair full bedhead (you can pull this off in the summer with long hair. I'm not saying I'm proud of it. But I wore a tailored outfit to offset it you know?)
I was at my desk by 7:30 am after stopping at Tim Hortons and leaving, crushed with disappointment, when they were out of chocolate chip muffins (stars not aligning this week).
I escaped work at 4 ish to pick up plans and packages at a client's place. After arriving to work at 7:30 am it was all I could do to keep awake by then so it was a welcome respite.
And I had an acupuncture appointment to get to.

After the disaster that was my therapy appointment yesterday, I was looking forward to getting stuck with little needles and lying there (ok, falling asleep immediately) in the dim room in a basement on Bayview.
Last week I was late for my appointment.
This week I was way early.
The sky was clouding over. I was hungry. I found a patio with an awning, ordered a chardonnay and a poutine and relaxed with my work journal, making a to do list. All alone. A family of four arrived approximately 4 minutes into my time there, shattering the reverie, the nervous mother/wife making sure her husband faced the other way, while I pulled out my ipod to block out the sound of her and her irritating pronouncements about the patio, what to order, what to have to drink--you know, the useless prattle of those who are used to not being heard. I texted my friend L. Our texts were not knid--along the lines of 'b*tch please',  and I listened to my music, sipped my wine, picked at my food, paid my bill, as rain started to fall (that incomparable smell of summer rain, if they made a candle of that smell I'd buy it by the armload). I gathered myself up, umbrella and all (forethought, yes) and wandered down the street to my appointment, where I got stuck with the needles and promptly fell asleep.

Left there feeling drugged (in the best possible way), drove home on the wind-y Bayview extension and decided to go up to the roof with a book and some water and wine.
I sat. I sipped (after guzzling the water). I stared at the sky, clouds rapidly advancing. I thought. About nothing. I read. The Circle of Quiet book, the quote of which leads off this entry. I watched the birds, looking at their signals as the clouds thickened. My mom always says to watch the birds before a storm. They will fly for cover. When you stop seeing them, the rain is imminent. Slow drops at first. I gathered up my gear. Books, bag, ipod, shoes, glass of wine.

Came back down, ate leftovers, and now here I am. It's bedtime, the rain is pouring outside, that amazing sound, there is a bit of thunder.

Wicked Wednesday is coming to a close.

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