|photo from here|
When I get to where I'm going I start. At the door I have a final passing thought about calling in sick or just simply running away, but I never do. I greet the nuns with their soul-scanning glance as politely as I can, but also a little defensively (what did I tell you about being a rebel). After all because of them I can't wear mini skirts at work. Hateful. My mood improves a little bit when upstairs I'm welcomed with a wave of hellos and good mornings and hugs and kisses. Joy. Even if five minutes later someone might bite you in the knee because you told them not to try to bite you in the knee.
And now I wonder what is the point of this post? Ummm. Maybe just to voice my desperation about the early hours of the day. The city is filled with tired faces all going somewhere, all unhappy to be out of their beds, but understanding too that this is what we have to do to survive.
But I have plans. I'm working on them. They don't involve getting up before nine.