How about I write something a bit more coherent, and we forget whatever that weird comment of mine was supposed to be about?
Mornings this time of year are dark as I head out to work. This particular morning is rainy. No sight of the Super, Blue, Eclipsed Moon for us. The night before, though, the rain clouds rolled all the way back, and the twilight sky, like a bare theater stage with a single spotlight, was a breathtaking setting for the tour de force showing of a very-nearly-super, not-yet-eclipsed moon.
Morning drives are uneventful, except for this morning. I merge and get cut off by a car that speeds ahead to get into my lane. Hey, bud! I’m in the right of way, not you! The driver continues in front of me almost 10 miles under the speed limit. I’m not awake enough for a road enraged shout, but frustrated nonetheless.
The school bus ahead is unsure of where the lane is, because, I assumed, the reflection of lights off of the wet street surface obscures the yellow lines. I slow down and hold back at least four car lengths, which slows my progress even further. Cars passing me quickly decide to do the same. I arrive to work almost 10 minutes late, but later, I feel guilty I did not report the lane-wandering bus, or flip off the car that cut me off and then slowed down.
Typical of my manager, a project we’ve made some significant headway on is now completely reorganized and proceeding in an entirely different direction. All that time planning, organizing, wasted. Whatever. The focus on her husband’s poor health has made her anxious, a bit impulsive and definitely scattered these days. I’ve learned to roll with it.
Alarm goes off, and I get up to do it again. The epic properties of ordinary.