The Commute

Some days I just don't want to get out of bed. Not because I'm sad or depressed and can't bear to face the day; I just really like my bed and really dislike anything that happens before 8am. It's a daily struggle, usually involving me giving myself some sort of pep talk.

Today was particularly rough. I felt so, so tired and even the thought of the mountain of work I had to get through today didn't trigger enough anxiety to get me out of bed. So I engaged my "Plan B" alarm and went back to sleep.

I think you'd all be impressed with the complexity of the alarm system I have going on. Remember how a few months back I kept sleeping through three alarms? I wasn't exaggerating.

Alarm #1: Musical pre-game. "Good morning, sunshine!" A nice, pleasant reminder that I have 10 more minutes of bliss.
Alarm #2: Annoying cell phone chime. "You should really get up now." But of course I've built in time for some Snoozing.
Alarm #3: Annoying cell phone chime. "It's go time. Snoozing is no longer an option and you really should have gotten out of bed 15 minutes ago."

Plan B Alarm: Annoying cell phone chime. This alarm is not set to go off daily so if I decide on Plan B I have to make sure I turn it on somewhere between Alarm #2 and Alarm #3. Moving to Plan B means that I will catch a later bus and get to work at the last possible moment before crossing the line into "late".

This morning I went even beyond Plan B and when I finally rolled out of bed at 7:35am, I knew that today I would need to rock the curly hair and that I would need to drive downtown in order to make it at the very last minute on time.

That's the really long way of saying: I drove to work today.

Thursday was the new Wednesday this week and although I didn't feel like Thrusday punched me in the face, there was still a lot going on. Around 5:30 I started to not feel very well but knew I had to finish at least one project in particular before I could leave. By the time 7:00 rolled around my brain was over it, I still didn't feel well and was dreading the bus ride home. Yes, the bus ride. So I gathered my things, popped in my headphones and began the trek to the bus stop.

I don't know what sparked the thought, but about four blocks into the journey I realized that I had not taken the bus to work that morning. And that my car was sitting in a parking garage six blocks in the other direction.

Normally I would have seen the humor in this situation, but I really wasn't feeling well and the story became even less funny when I realized that there was a 10 hour limit at the garage. A 10 hour limit which, by the time I got there, I had exceeded by 15 minutes and now had to pay $18 to get my car out instead of $10.

Tomorrow I think I'll skip Plan B.