XXXI. One of Those Days -   
 My Windows Vista Clock reads 11:00 PM. 
 In one hour, it will be tomorrow - 
 It will not be a day like today was. 
 That is to say, today was one of those horrid days and there is no  chance that I will embrace the vulnerability to enable tomorrow be as  today has been. 
 Remember - it is still today…. 
 You wake up late - midday- and you are woken up by someone other than  yourself. As a result, you already feel as though you have lost control  over the day ahead of you. 
 Suddenly you don’t know what to wear. For some reason your hair  looked an infinite amount of times better before you went to sleep and  right after you woke up, than it does when you’re getting ready and are  about to leave. 
 In an attempt to conjure up a new, pretty-looking you, an hour passes  and you still are standing in front of the mirror, all the while  reflecting on whether or not you are shallow to be worrying about how  you look, only to be going to the library. 
 I won’t say what happened later during my day - there was nothing dreadful, nothing good - just a day of nothingness. 
 If I were to provide details, it would be as though I was venting and  personalizing a situation that applies to more than my self - there is a  larger context than my own day. 
 After all, “one of those days” is the epitome of ambiguity and  specificity - we know what “one of those days” specifically connotes and  refers to, but who experiences it and how they experience it, is  ambiguous. 
 In short, my narrative is a a part of a collection of narratives. 
 My day was analogous to the bathroom doors on third, fourth, and fifth floors of Van Pelt library… 
 My day, in one image, was the bathroom door that says “Vacant.” 
 This is a paradox because usually these one-bathroom per person type  bathrooms are  always “occupied” and so the following scenario ensues: 
 Once someone in that bathroom turns the lock to the left so that the  bathroom now says “Vacant”,  the person waiting outside the bathroom  staring intently at the door so as not to miss the sliding of the little  sign go from “occupied to “vacant”, aka the caffeine-induced  bladder-possessing student, (who has abandoned his/her belongings under  the supervision of a fellow headphone-wearing student who is probably  busy straining there eyes on their monitor screen thereby causing them  to close their eyes periodically and thus causing them to be oblivious  to the state of your belongings), becomes a very happy camper. 
 Breakdown: “Vacant” bathroom + Student waiting to use the bathroom  —> Student = Happy Camper. 
 Suffice it to say, I was not a happy camper today. This day - the equivalent to a vacant bathroom door. 
 Here’s to tomorrow:     http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yop62wQH498  
 Little Annie, I never understood you better than I do right now -

XXXI. One of Those Days -

My Windows Vista Clock reads 11:00 PM.

In one hour, it will be tomorrow -

It will not be a day like today was.

That is to say, today was one of those horrid days and there is no chance that I will embrace the vulnerability to enable tomorrow be as today has been.

Remember - it is still today….

You wake up late - midday- and you are woken up by someone other than yourself. As a result, you already feel as though you have lost control over the day ahead of you.

Suddenly you don’t know what to wear. For some reason your hair looked an infinite amount of times better before you went to sleep and right after you woke up, than it does when you’re getting ready and are about to leave.

In an attempt to conjure up a new, pretty-looking you, an hour passes and you still are standing in front of the mirror, all the while reflecting on whether or not you are shallow to be worrying about how you look, only to be going to the library.

I won’t say what happened later during my day - there was nothing dreadful, nothing good - just a day of nothingness.

If I were to provide details, it would be as though I was venting and personalizing a situation that applies to more than my self - there is a larger context than my own day.

After all, “one of those days” is the epitome of ambiguity and specificity - we know what “one of those days” specifically connotes and refers to, but who experiences it and how they experience it, is ambiguous.

In short, my narrative is a a part of a collection of narratives.

My day was analogous to the bathroom doors on third, fourth, and fifth floors of Van Pelt library…

My day, in one image, was the bathroom door that says “Vacant.”

This is a paradox because usually these one-bathroom per person type bathrooms are  always “occupied” and so the following scenario ensues:

Once someone in that bathroom turns the lock to the left so that the bathroom now says “Vacant”,  the person waiting outside the bathroom staring intently at the door so as not to miss the sliding of the little sign go from “occupied to “vacant”, aka the caffeine-induced bladder-possessing student, (who has abandoned his/her belongings under the supervision of a fellow headphone-wearing student who is probably busy straining there eyes on their monitor screen thereby causing them to close their eyes periodically and thus causing them to be oblivious to the state of your belongings), becomes a very happy camper.

Breakdown: “Vacant” bathroom + Student waiting to use the bathroom  —> Student = Happy Camper.

Suffice it to say, I was not a happy camper today. This day - the equivalent to a vacant bathroom door.

Here’s to tomorrow:    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yop62wQH498

Little Annie, I never understood you better than I do right now -