Jonah Day

I am sitting on my bed. There are things that I should get done. Things that I'd like to get done. But I'm not going to do them. I refuse. Because if I try to do them, things will break. People will die. The world will EXPLODE.

It's been one of those days, you see.

It all started last night, you see, when one of our cars wouldn't start. We already have one fewer car than people that need to get places. This isn't a big deal because I don't drive yet, so Mum drives me to work every morning. But having one less than that and having one of the remaining functional cars be the 1988 Ford Ranger? Kinda a big deal. I was worried about the crammed car ride to work with three butts squished onto a seat built for two and a half butts and two sets of legs (because if you put the transmission gear shifty stick in front of the half-butt seat, problems ensue). Thankfully, Dad was able to call a worker who lives nearby to get a ride. Ok, cool. But this was all rather last minute and I... don't do last minute. In the flurry of things, I forgot my lunch. This fact is something I realized only after we got all the way to the office.

Since my Italian Mama is a saint and I'm a hypoglycemic, allergic to everything crazy-pants person who can't just go by lunch at the fast food place across the street, she brought my lunch by at my break. When I got back to my desk, I felt like I was going to pass out. Not an unusual occurrence for me, generally speaking, but not something my coworkers are used to dealing with. I notified someone as they walked by and that sent the whole floor into a panic. Oh my goodness, I've never seen so many freak out about my consciousness level. I stayed conscious (because I was sitting down for goodness sake) and carried on.

At lunch, I tried to schedule an appointment with the doctor. That didn't happen because they seem to have designed their available hours to be exactly when any normal working person cannot call them. As I was explaining this to my coworker as I came back from lunch, my bun got snagged on a stick in the vase of artificial flowers and pulled the whole thing down with a resounding crash onto the tile floor. Shards of glass and decorative rocks went flying.

And then everyone in the accounting department came running out because they thought I had passed out.

And I started crying.

I have a new nickname: Crash.

Didn't take them long to catch on, did it?