6:30-6:40-7:05-7:30
That's what I see every morning as I lie in bed, cloaked in disappointment. The soft glow of the morning sun contrasts sharply with the overcast gloom closeting my heart. Crest-fallen, I complain out loud to no one, powerless and weak, shutting off the alarm before I've decided to get out of bed, before I've realized I've made a huge mistake.
8:15-8:30-8:43-9:00
Ack, now there is no time, no choice, no other conclusion to be made. Back when gas was over $3 a gallon I might have been okay, but with the falling prices, came the rampant traffic that takes over every mile of the 405. The excruciatingly plodding stop and go of thousands of people ready to explode. I'm definitely going to be late.
That's what I see every morning as I lie in bed, cloaked in disappointment. The soft glow of the morning sun contrasts sharply with the overcast gloom closeting my heart. Crest-fallen, I complain out loud to no one, powerless and weak, shutting off the alarm before I've decided to get out of bed, before I've realized I've made a huge mistake.
8:15-8:30-8:43-9:00
Ack, now there is no time, no choice, no other conclusion to be made. Back when gas was over $3 a gallon I might have been okay, but with the falling prices, came the rampant traffic that takes over every mile of the 405. The excruciatingly plodding stop and go of thousands of people ready to explode. I'm definitely going to be late.
*********
It wasn't always like this. Even after I moved to Torrance to make the 31 mile drive to Van Nuys, I was hardly ever late. I would sit in an hour and a half of traffic, inch slowly past the garden truck with palm trees hanging out the back, the glass truck with panels of glass resting on the side, the backpack-wearing motorcyclists weaving their way toward UCLA, and make it through somewhat awake to the office.
These days I'm perpetually tired and perpetually late. I'm constantly drinking Red Bulls at 10AM. My eyes are always burning from keeping my contacts on too long. I watch the clock at 6:30, not to anticipate the time to leave, but to count down to the time that everyone else leaves. It's the only time during the day that I can feel productive. I won't hear incredulous phone calls to vendors or website builders, I won't see closed door meetings with Ben Franklin, I won't hear awful music, or smell the distinct scent of bullshit through the intercom of my phone. It's the one time I can grasp some sense of control over the craziness of every day.
It's inevitable, the feeling of doom and dread toward waking up and making the trek to work at a job that never ends and always proves to yourself and the world that you're just not good enough to matter or make a difference. The only comfort comes from the people who are not only sane but amazing. The people that listen to you complain about everything, the people that share in your dismay, the people that encourage you and point out the truth, and the people that hate it more than you do. Because of you, I love it here.
