I hit the snooze. I never hit the snooze. But when my alarm went off, I realized it was still dark and there were heavy rain drops upon my window I made a split-second decision not to start my day.
During my run, the longest I’d ever gone on a weekday, I stopped to stretch. My body just wasn’t happy with me. I held onto a stop sign in an attempt to help my back. A few blocks away I hear, “HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THAT STOP SIGN?!” A hobo yelled at me at 7am.
In the hours surrounding my run it poured. Before I left the house and as soon as I returned. Not just a little rain, but green-sky puddles everywhere rain.
When I got to work it hailed. The sound filled the library as the quarter-size pellets hit the atrium. And, of course, we all stopped what we were doing to stare.
I carried 23 pounds of pop-tabs up 2 flights of stairs. It was a relief to get them out of my car.
While driving up Sixth Street (a one-lane one-way street) the car in front of me stopped. They were obviously looking for a parking place. I saw them look to the lot on the left. They’d missed the entrance by a few feet and I was now blocking it with my car. Their white reverse lights go on. I look to the left. Are they going to try to get in there? You can’t be serious. BAM. I was hit. What the? Did you actually just back into me on a one-way street? No one moves for a number of seconds. Finally they pull off to the right and comfortably into a spot on the street as if nothing happened. I pull in behind them, noticing that there is no damage to their bumper. I get out, and the two men tell me how sorry they are. No damage to my car. Welp, see ya later!
I drive to Bloomington. The west-bound lanes are closed. How often is an entire highway closed? I guess there was some sort of explosion.
At dinner we discovered that the party of 26 that had been seated before us took the last of the meatballs.
It was a strange day.