the dance of the ink riddled fingers

cried like a girl

Posted in 52 pickup, how was your day?, thought spills by enisea on 11/10/2010

I finished my assignment today at about 5:15pm. My colour printer took twice as long to take a blank piece of paper and spit it out with ink on it , than a grandmother takes to tell you about her favourite grandchild.  I got caught in the beginnings of peak hour in my madrush to the studpark post office (which unlike the usual 9-5 offices, closes at 5:30pm) and got caught in every slow lane and nearly screamed in my car. I rushed to park infront of the entrance to the post office and ran to the closed doors…but they do not automatically open for me. It was 5:35pm. I waited there like an obedient puppy dog in the window trying to plead my cause before getting butchered and fried into some crazy Chinese dish (I’ve heard it happens).  But all the ladies would not look at me. One came out first, tried to avoid me but I was straight in her path and simply told her I needed a date stamp.  She told me they’d been put away and walked off. Two miutes later, the rest of the four ladies come out and I implored them with desperate eyes to stamp my envelope. They made excuses and then say “why didn’t you tell us before?” which puzzled me, as I was not met with eye-contact through the transparent door which refused me entry. They all looked guilty and walked off. I stood outside the post office heartbroken.  I pace a little as the anxiety wells and I drop the darned assignment into the tall dumb post box outside, knowing it would be a day late and it was probably my fault – it was. But a little kindness would have saved me.  I walk to the car and turn the key and began crying. I didn’t ignite the little machine, though I gave it enough life for it to start singing to me. I withdrew my hand instead to meet my face to hide the tears from whoever might see some girl crying at the front of the car park. A couple of sobs later I drive through numbness, then decide I wasn’t fit to return home, I make a right into the carpark of the warehouse, park in the isolated far middle and sit there to cry.

I’ll tell you why this doesn’t make sense. The last assignment I handed in was ten days (counted as eight working days) late and I didn’t so much as give that a guilty giggle. Last semester I only handed ONE assignmnet on time, the last one and only within the last 15minutes. So knowing that this assignment would be a day late should have not been far from ordinary. Yet still, now, I believe I met Hopelessness, and she spoke to me the way I can’t remember.  I’m not going to go back there. It’s done. Sure, I won’t fail. And sure, if I do, it’s my own fault. The ladies in the post office didn’t do anything wrong, their shift was over, the office was closed, the stamps had been packed away.  My printer wouldn’t have gone any fast if I promised to give it my ticket to China and coat it in gold.  What’s more, peak hour happens every weekday at the same time, I was just stupid to leave the time I did.

So it wasn’t really hopeless. Everything was ordinary. I was just not with the ordinary.

Haha, I cried like a girl, then stopped, drove home, walked up to my backyard and sat for 20 seconds before coming inside and treating it like any other post-office visit. Today was a good day. I took two amazing classes for 30minutes each. I walked my two favourite pups who greeted me as if I were the definition of ‘Savior’.  The Sun was nourishing for my soul, I finished one of three assignments – on schedule – it’s Monday evening and I finished it, having started saturday night! I’m about to enjoy Daddio’s dish up of dinner, a hot shower and then the company of wonderful people. 

Now? I shake my head in shame at the previous despair. I really don’t know what came over me! What sense does it make that 30 minutes would have the audacity to ruin my entire day? No, no, no, no, I have much more in me than that.  So the post-office hubbub was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Game over, great. New game, new camel, get a new strategy and press different buttons.

Life is mine…or His, and I am loved. Tell me that’s not the life everybody else is jealous of.

Haha, as I began to compose myself in the car I kept hearing Mikee’s “suck it up, buttercup”, which I repremanding myself with. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? SUCK IT UP BUTTERCUP”

Classy. Thanks. Love. I am my own dramaqueen.

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One Response

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  1. saNdra said, on 12/10/2010 at 10:02 PM

    waHH ><"

    hope we learn and keep growing!! lets not be so rushed!!!

    take care when overseas too ^^


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