can I start over?

Last night, I went to bed with a lot on my mind. Not only did I have to wake up early to get downtown to the hospital for a CAT scan, but I also had to get all my papers in order for the presentation I need to give in class tonight. I still have changes to make and photocopies to print, and visions of powerpoint slides danced in my head as I fell into sleep...

My alarm went off and I got up. With half-open eyes I took a shower and shaved my legs so that the poor CAT scan technician wouldn't have to deal with any fur. I went back into my room and turned on the computer--which I don't usually do in the morning--to make sure all my files were transmitted for class. I plugged in my iron and turned it on, flipped on my lamp, and picked up my hair dryer.

I was happily blow-drying my gooped up hair when....bzzzt. Hair dryer, off. Light, off. Computer, off. Fan, off. Clock, off. Air conditioner...on? It appeared I'd blown a fuse. The one day I had to stand in front of my class and look somewhat presentable while teetering on crutches, I blew a fuse. Not having my superintendant's number nor any idea where the fuse box was, I just dealt with the dark.

I pulled clothes out of the closet and attempted to smooth them with what little heat had found its way into my iron. I put on socks and sneakers and pulled back my hair. I hobbled into the bathroom--which thankfully still had light--and put on whatever makeup I could to cover the bags under my eyes and asshole zit on my forehead.

At 7:40, as planned, I left my apartment, grabbing the phone number of the super from the placque on my way out the door. I crossed the street and propped myself up to hail a cab. Then I waited...and waited...and waited. No available cabs were going by. All had fares already. Two or three downtown-bound buses went by before I got frustrated and decided to walk two blocks to 2nd Ave (a one-way street going towards the hospital) to get a taxi.

I grunted and huffed all the way to 2nd Ave. Not one, not two, but THREE fucking cabs drove past me. This, I believe, was intentional. If you swat at a mosquito, six cabbies interpret that as a hail attempt and pull up at your feet. But propped up on crutches, waving my hand, they go right by me, one after another after another.

Despairing, and now 2 blocks in either direction from the bus or the subway, I decided to call the hospital and tell them I was late. They expected me at 8, and it was now 8, and I was only two blocks from home after 20 minutes. But the lady was nice and said they'd take me whenever, so I fought back the tears that welled in my eyes and started to walk some more. I grew ever more thankful that I spent the extra 10 minutes last night to pad the top of my crutches with old hand towels. I kept saying "You're going to be fine, you're going to be fine." But really I wanted to pick up the crutch and smash someone in the head with it.

I got to the subway and hobble-jumped down the stairs. I got through the turnstile with some care (god forbid the "service entrance" actually be accessible) and wobbled to a place on the platform. More and more people surrounded me, and when the train came, it was packed totally full. I knew I couldn't fight for a spot--nor stay upright if I should find one--so I just stood there as it pulled away. I then had clear access down the entire platform, so I made my way to the less-crowded section and got on the much emptier train that came next.

I got on to find all seats taken, and not a single goddam person offered one to me. Selfish asshole bastards didn't so much as flinch. So I propped myself up for the ride, and tried not to topple over when we started or stopped moving, turned corners, or when other selfish bastards kicked my crutches on their way by.

I got off the train and let everyone else go up the stairs before I slowed them all down. I got to the top and was complimented on my beaty by a homeless many who wanted money, who was lucky I was in a rush or he might have been my first victim. I walked BACK all the way to 1st Ave, got to the hospital, and finally registered for my CAT scan a full hour behind schedule.

They eventually called my name after a long wait, which I deserved for being so late for my appointment, and forced me once again to "sit perfectly still" while pointing and flexing my foot at exactly this angle. When it was over, they said "call your doctor tomorrow for the results." Fantastic. Thanks.

When I finally got to work, I struggled to get in the door, but my new Very Hot Friend Gerardo held it for me while he stood nearby SMOKING (EEEH! Rejected!). When I got upstairs, I realized I was late for our monthly staff meeting that I didn't even know was today. I hobble-rushed over and interrupted everything only to find out there were about 3 minutes left of the meeting anyway.

Now I keep running into people who say "Look at you! Oh no! What happened?" And I have to say "I don't know." No one wants to hear "I don't know." They want to hear "I tripped and fell" or "I kicked a door" or "I lept out of a second-story window to save a dog that was trapped in a fire!" But whatever it is, I better come up with something better than "I don't know, but I blew a goddam fuse this morning and no taxis would stop for me!"

Anyhow, the day's not over. It's only just begun. I have to do my work and school work, call the super, get downtown for my presentation, and get back home to do my homework. Tomorrow is another day...and I have a strong feeling it will NOT be a day on crutches.