Last night I got off work at 11pm. I went straight home, and managed to squeeze in 5 hours of sleep before getting up at 5:45am in order to go back to work at 7am. Oh, but there’s more.
I get out to my car, and all the windows are frosted over. It’s 32 degrees out. So I scrape them. But the INSIDE of the windows are frosted as well. So I scrape those, too. Did I mention I have no heat or defrost in my car?
So I drive down the road, freezing my patooties off, peering through a porthole-sized patch of window that is constantly fogging over, wiping it down every 30 seconds and hoping that no one steps out in front of my car. By the way, it’s still pitch black out. The sun doesn’t rise here until 7:20am at this time of year.
I get to work and thaw out for a brief shining moment, and then head back out into the raw, foggy blackness to meet one of those arbitrary deadlines that I spoke of the other day. The sidewalks and bike lanes on the bridge need to be swept. It’s been raining for weeks, so I spend an hour hauling about 30 pounds of wet leaves, mud, and soggy cigarette butts off the bridge. The sweat is freezing against my throbbing back. (And can someone please explain to me why smokers think it’s okay to just throw their butts anywhere they happen to be? It’s disgusting.)
As I toiled, a guy came by on his bike and shouted, “Great job!” It’s nice to be appreciated. By someone. Believe it or not, though, I do love my job. Just not this morning.
Finally I got back inside, and while waiting for the snot to thaw so I can wipe it off my face without tearing the skin, I read the news on the internet. “Twenty-seven Dead as Gunmen take Hostages at Mali Hotel”
I really have absolutely nothing to complain about. Nothing at all. Perspective.