The Process of Disbelief

If you can't take the heat, get out of the  way.

It was one of those days.  I overslept.  I missed my train.  I stood on the platform and hoped for summer while the leaves forgot green.  I forgot my breakfast bar.  I travelled to Euston to catch a different train and was scolded for having the wrong ticket.  I paid the difference (same destination, no?) and rushed upstream, past the elbows and man-bags, to make my new train. 

People were everywhere and, on one of those days, they all seemed to point their annoying DNA right at me.  I felt bad.  It wasn’t their fault they were so annoying.  I was annoyed by everyone.  I probably annoyed a few, too, though and that eased my conscious just a bit.  I climbed down the stairs towards the crowded tunnel that would lead me to my platform.  The stairs came alive as I walked against the grain.  I am no modern man, I thought.  Souls tapped alternate steps like a tramped collection of muted claps.  Gloves and scarves were out, or in, and I was happy I forgot mine.  It was hot down there, probably 80-85.  How is it possible to walk uphill down stairs?

I made my train and picked up a strangers newspaper from my seat.  Whose hands smeared the ink on the second page?  Lost in thought, coffee soaked into the back page stained my pants.  It looked liked I peed ink.  Maybe I really am supposed to be a writer?  I wanted to give up and go home.  It wasn’t even 8 AM.  I must go on, I thought.  Everyone is tested.  I must suffer, because it wasn’t going to change.

Truth be told, my day didn’t veer from that path.  I bombed a presentation.  I missed the deadline to submit my expenses.  I forgot to eat lunch.  I didn’t make it to the gym.  I finished my last call at 9:30.  There was no way out.  I just took one defeat at a time and hoped it wasn’t as bad as I thought.  Self-fulfilled bad day?  Perhaps (hey, at least I did something right).

I’m now two days out from that day.  Second truth be told, my mood and view hasn’t righted just yet.  Things are much better, though, and that day wasn’t as disastrous as I had thought.  They let me submit my expenses a day late.  I didn’t pee ink the next day (talk about writing your name in the snow…). 

What happened to me that day?  I had no substance.  No control.

It is all about flow.  Go with the flow, I wanted to tell myself that day.  Problem was I couldn’t identify the flow let alone join it.  I wondered into the unknown.  I was exhausted (10 weeks of travel out of 12 will do that to you).  The flow annoyed me.  I needed a break.  I need a break.  The flow will go on.  And once I am rested, the man-bags and elbows will point somewhere else.  I won’t be annoyed with every Londoner, because let’s face it: that just has to be the dissent of man.