You know how some days you just WANT TO WAKE UP AND HAVE IT ALL BE A DREAM?

Yeah, today was one of those days.

I missed the meeting.

I had a nightmare.

I felt sick. (Okay okay I KNOW I feel sick a lot. I always have. I don't know why.)

The engine light came back on in my car.

And I was locked out of my house when I got home from work.

So... how was your day?

I understand if you never trust me again, though I regret and hate myself like f*ck.

But I'm amazed that you still talk to me, that you even still tell me stuff.

I'm utterly awed by the fact that you've put up with the things I've said and done and that you could actually forgive me.

And I didnt even know what I did.

I am so f*cking sorry.

I wish I could take it all back but I cant.

So where do I go from here,

And what do I say to you?

I cant face you without thinking of the horrible things I've done,

And why didnt you tell me what harm I caused?

I want you to trust me again, in fact, I think I need it.

I dont deserve that much I know, but hell, I bloody hate myself if you totally lost trust in me.

It will add to the list of f*cking many screw ups I've made in my pathetic little life.

Cant believe this is happening.

I would never have done anything to let you down, anything to lose your trust, anything to hurt you and get you into shit.

But apparently, I did.

Not once, not twice, but over and over again.

And through it all, you kept quiet about it, and you didnt even say anything bout it to me.

Oh god. I wish you had something to me,

And damn it, why dont you just rant and scream at me.

I dont know how to bloody face you anymore,

I cant think of anything that would make this up to you,

But for my sanity, I need to find a way to gain back your trust,

Cos damn, you're one heck of a friend,

And I need it, so I know that I'm not some bloody screwed up kid that the world's better off without.

You turned out to be the hero and I, the villian in this story.

I'm so f*cking stupid.

I woke one morning this week in tears. The worst nightmare ever. No reason for it, none at all. I went to sleep in a good mood, the prior day was bearable, nothing was wrong. And my dream was...horrible. Never in my life have I heard of a dream like this...never.
::Killing someone in a dream. Someone very near and dear to you. Someone you love. Why in the hell would you dream about killing them? And why would you dream they let you?

The past two mornings have been considerably better. I've been woken up by a phone call. I smile before I even get out of bed. Before my eyes open, I feel loved.

Debo decir que no me considero celosa... Bueno, lo soy en algo pero más con mis amigos porque la verdad es que no le veo motivo de serlo cuando estás con alguien... porque se supone que están, no? Además tengo trauma. Mi primer novio fue súper híper archi celoso, así le tengo aversión a esas cosas. Jamás he hecho escenas de celos, ni he pedido explicaciones o nada. Pero eso es respecto a "ellas" nomás...

Es más fácil para mí por ejemplo (aunque suene estúpido) sentir celos de las cosas o de situaciones que hagan poner a quien me interesa con la cara de baboso o hipnotizado que me gustaría que ponga con mi presencia o simplemente al escuchar mi voz. En esas ocasiones suelo ponerme triste y un poquito molesta, tal vez por orgullo también. Hoy me pasó algo así al encender la PC.

Todavía no siento los ojos pesados, pero quisiera dormirme YA! y que la tierra deje de girar por varias horas para que el tiempo se detenga...

But, those days will pass and if you need to talk, call me or come by and see me...

This guy in the picture (Dan Uggla) had a really bad night on the biggest stage (2008 All Star Game) in the "House that Ruth Built". He made 3 errors (2 on consecutive plays), grounded into a double play to kill a rally, and struck out 3 times.

He had a really bad night, but if you ask him 20 years from now about playing at Yankee stadium, he'll only remember the dreams of his childhood growing up in New York to play on that field.

You will have days like that, but just know that they will pass, and that as you look back on those times they are often days that help form you into the person you have become. So, be careful and use your failures to learn and remember you are loved by me, your mom, and God.

If you learn to trust that you are beloved, regardless of what you do, you can return from even the worst of decisions. Soon I'll share with you the story of Josh Hamilton, who has learned to love himself, his family, and his God. He had a great night in Yankee stadium the night before Uggla had his nightmare.

My dad and I recently had a fight. It included some very harsh words on both of our parts and opened my eyes as to how very, very different we are. It was surprising to me because I generally consider myself a very level-headed, kind person. I was unaware that I still harbored so much pent-up... anger? hurt? frustration? Pick any negative emotion and it probably applies. And I do not want to be that type of person! I want to hug bunnies and eat oreos and write blog entries about The Bachelorette. None of this serious, emotional business, please.

Anyway, my dad sent me an email this afternoon (as I was studying for my biology test) threatening not to pay for my senior year of college. Insert anxiety attack here. I don't know what else to say. While I am somewhat confident that it is an idle threat, I'm preparing for the worst. He has done things like this before. Welcome to dysfunction! Grab a chair and bring your own Zoloft.

My sister, who no longer talks to him, made me feel a little better this evening. She said that despite our crappy circumstances, it's amazing that we somehow turned out okay.

Friday night my step-mom and aunt showed up in preparation for a day full of shopping. Aside from being a bit loud, often crude and wanting to shop way too much, they are pretty fun guests who require little and add almost no stress to my life. Normally a visit from them is great. I get out of the house to shop and my son gets heaps of attention (and other people to hold/carry/feed him). This weekend, things were a bit more complicated. They weren't going to be my only house guests. On Saturday, my mother was coming to town.

For many people this probably isn't quite the anxiety inducer as it is for me. My mom and I don't have the normal mother/daughter relationship. In the last 19 years, I have seen my mother six times, and that includes yesterday when I picked her up from the airport. Three of her visits have been in the last year. And all three have been a trip to visit my grandmother, with a side trip down to see me. The first time she stayed one night. The second we spent most of the day together when I drove her two hours to for her cousin's funeral and then an extra hour when I picked her up and took her to the airport.

Now, this isn't a pity me blog, but in those other 18 years, I have graduated from high school, college, gotten married, gotten divorced, gotten re-married and had a baby. None of which has warranted a visit from my mom.

So when she emailed me a few months ago and asked me to pick her and my two nephews up at the airport, drive them to a Cracker Barrel about an hour away (to meet up with my grandmother for the other hour of driving) and then pick her up one week later at the same Cracker Barrel, I was less than thrilled. Willing to do it, but dreading the day I had to.

Yesterday, I had to get her. The problem though, was that my aunt and step-mom were still in town. So I spent the morning with them, then at 12:30, I left for the airport and they left to go shopping. I got my mom and nephews and headed back to my house so she could see my son (who was napping when her plane came in). They spent about an hour at my house, just enough time for one of my nephews to ask what every single thing in our house and backyard were and why they were there. Then we loaded them back in the car and took off for our roundezvous point.

We pulled in at 4:18, just three minutes passed our scheduled meeting time. My grandmother was sitting outside in a long sleeve pants suit, despite the 90 degree heat. She was in the shade at least. My mom and nephews joined her while I hauled two backpacks, one suitcase, one diaper bag, one giant box fan, one stroller and two car seats to my grandmother's car. I then strapped both car seats in and the kids in to them. My grandmother was in a hurry to get home, so I said a quick goodbye and was right back in the car for another hour.

When I got home, the house was empty. While I was making my way to the Cracker Barrel, my aunt and step-mom came back, picked my son up and took him out for more shopping. My husband was mowing the lawn. For five glorious minutes, I got to sit on my couch, turn the TV on and blur my mind with Degrassi. It was wonderful.

My peace was quickly shattered when everyone returned from shopping. My son immediately started running around the living room and my aunt and step-mom started pulling their bags out of hiding (we'd put them in various closets so my mom would have no idea they were there--ugliness would have ensued). They plopped down in various chairs and regaled me with stories of their exploits. My step-mom pouted a little because my aunt had stopped her from buying my son a goldfish. I smiled gratefully at my aunt.

They stayed until well after my son had gone to sleep. My husband was watching some History channel show about throwing axes and I was answering a million questions about my mom. It was fine, but my brain just kind of hurt. Finally they left for home. My husband went out to get dinner, since I was far too bushed to cook and once again, I had the house to myself. I sacked out on the couch, put on more Degrassi and tried to forget that in one week I have to go back and get my mom for another uncomfortable ride to the airport.

Sometimes
Only sometimes
I question everything
And I'm the first to admit
If you catch me in a mood like this
I can be tiring
Even embarrassing

I was thinking of the three people I was closest with in high school tonight.  They were First Love, Soul Mate BFF, and BFF.  Thanks to various social networking tools, I can see where they ended up in life.

BFF is a New Media hipster on the west coast.  Her wedding last year was billed as one of the first ever Twittered. She also has her own Wiki stub.

Soul Mate BFF is now a VP at a largeish investment firm in NYC.

First Love does photagraphy work at some of my favorite edgy publications.

I've had sporadic contact with BFF but none with the other two since I've been married.  I'm feeling a little wistful of the path not chosen tonight especially as I search through couch cushions looking for the $15 that fell out of my pocket which has to get me through pay day.

It was twelve years ago we exploded or imploded so dramatically we required outside intervention to continue to live. In the following years we had a lot of crises, ups and downs, but the structure of our system was stable.

Three years ago that changed.

Dissociation is an excellent survival skill. A dissociated system of people or identities residing in a single body can absorb a lot of insult and keep on ticking. There's a limit. We found, when we reached that limit, that we'd used our entire allocation of creativity and resilience to get that far. There was hardly anything left. The system itself became unstable, and has been falling apart since then.

We are losing people. Rome may have been the greatest loss, since at the time she was in charge, so to speak, but she wasn't the first or only loss. The difference with Rome was that she was here, and then she was gone. She didn't change: she died. Not so with Baz, before her. And not so now with Tracy.

We are well aware, when dealing with people in the Outer World, that our reality seems exotic and overdramatic. If we were too stupid to figure that out ourselves, the constant reminders from baffled or angry mental health professionals would have done the trick by now. So we actually keep a lot of things to ourselves. We don't tell tales of the foundation-destroying abuse in childhood, or of the many complicated ways we don't fit in the world and the world is foreign and strange to us. The point of the thing is to survive and to camouflage the damage and the differences.

But we are damaged, and we are different. I will even grant overdramatic.

Baz was Tracy's best friend before her change in 2005. We were enduring the hospital and Rome's strong desire to die and to kill us all, and Baz was doing what she always did: trying to smooth things for everyone -- for us, for the people around us, for the family. She was at the end of herself, and when someone she unsuspectingly believed cared about us told her point-blank she should kill herself, Baz was done. She fled to the Inner Worlds and underwent a radical change. People shifted to cover -- it's what we do -- and Tracy lost her best friend.

Rome came to her end little more than a year later. It seems Tracy now has come to hers as well.

I'm struck with an impulse to wax poetic about Tracy, but I can't. She was deeply screwed up and flawed and she despised herself. She tried for a long time to change those things. And in a sense, she now has. She wanted to be with Baz again, and she is. She gave up. She lost. She forfeited. Her absence in the circle of madgirls who maintain the life of Rose as best we can sends shocks through the system the remainder of us will have to manage.

And that is that.

We arrived at my in-laws' a little after one and my son was thrilled to escape the confines of his car seat. He tore off around the family room. He made several circles before finding that despite their attempts at baby proofing, he still had several large, heavy (and breakable) items within his grasp, all of which he tried to pull off of tables. My mother-in-law was amazed at his reach. The kid can get in to anything. She hasn't seen him over two months, and even though that may not seem like long, he's developing so quickly, that it was a huge change. He went for the picture frames (we had to fold them up and stack them on the bar). He went for the bookends and antique books (we had to move them to the top of the bookshelf). He went for the Soduku book and pen (it went to the top of the hutch), before finally settling on the phones as his true object of desire. He hovered around them. We said no and he just stood there, waiting for us to let down our guard. The moment he thought we weren't looking, he grabbed for them. They too had to be moved (to the top of the hutch), which caused quite a stir when my husband forgot to put them back and the phone rang a little after 9 pm. My mother-in-law was more than a little annoyed she couldn't find her phone and that when she did, the battery was drained. Oops!

My sister-in-law, her husband and their baby (he's nine months) arrived late that night. I said a quick hello and then headed for bed. The next morning I was jarred awake by crying. This is usual to me, only it didn't sound like my son. I laid there, listening, very confused. It was 6:30 am and I was groggy. It was my nephew. This wouldn't be so bad, except that we were separated by a bathroom and my son's room.

My in-laws have a lovely home. I'm not sure exactly when it was built, but I'm guessing the 50's or 60's. It is huge! There are four bedrooms and four bathrooms, as well as a living room, family room, HUGE kitchen, dining room and a completely finished basement with three rooms, a large pantry and a good sized hallway. The bedrooms are cavernous. My husband's bedroom (which we stayed in) holds a king sized bed, a love seat that pulls out to a sleeper, a chest of drawers and four end tables and there is still room to play a game of Twister. Even his sister's bedroom, which is arguably the smallest, is as big as our master bedroom, and just like our master bedroom, it has its own bathroom. Everything in the house is elegantly (if a bit overly flowery and gold) decorated. The kitchen counters are all granite. There are two working fireplaces, one wood and one gas. The dining room table seats eight comfortably and 10 with a slight squeeze. Even the kitchen table sits six comfortably and eight with a squeeze (which we found out one afternoon). However, I think the walls are made of rice paper. If someone sneezes in the living room, I can clearly hear it in the bedroom upstairs. I heard my sister and brother-in-law talking to their son with both of our doors closed (and remember, they are separated by a long bathroom and another ginormous bedroom). I heard every cough and throat clearing my father-in-law made during the night (and some snoring). I heard my mother-in-law fixing coffee in the morning (downstairs and across the house).

Since my son was born I'm a pretty light sleeper. What's worse, is that when morning starts to break, so is he. Each morning he woke up at 6:30 am. GRRR!!!! Not that it was anyone's fault really. Even tiptoeing around the rooms is like stomping in that house. I actually brought my son into bed with us one night because he woke up at three am crying (he's cutting a new tooth) and I knew he was waking everyone up. As a result, I got no sleep since he spent the night flopping around. He managed to climb out of the covers and turn himself completely around (his head by our feet), without really waking up. He woke up because he'd scooted so far down the bed I was terrified he was going to nose dive off the far end, so I tried to gently move him back up by me. No luck. He woke up and wanted to play.

We also all got covered in mosquito bites. The air was muggy and the mosquitos were out in force. The first day we played out in the back yard, and by the next morning, my son's face had four bites on it (plus several on his legs and arms), and my calves were itching every five seconds. I was so excited that he got to play outside since their yard is fenced in (ours isn't and the second he's put into it, he either sprints across the neighbors yards or heads for the front and therefore the street). Only for one day though. In the end I guess it was good since the temperature was hot and the air was so humid. Still, he kept going to the back door, longing for another day in the yard.

The trip home was hard. We decided to skip the motel and do all ten hours in one stretch. As a rule, I don't sit still well. I could never be one of those teachers who sits at their desk or stands and write copious notes on the board. I have to be in motion. I pace. I'm up and down. My kids tease me all the time because I am a perpetual motion machine. Sitting for ten hours straight was horrid! My son did better than I did. He managed to sleep for three of it and entertained himself fairly well with a variety of toys and snacks. He made a huge mess of my backseat. There are goldfish and graham cracker crumbs everywhere, but since he kept the fussing to a minimum, I can't really complain.

Well, not about his behavior at least. My husband...now that's a different story. He was once again hot and kept turning the air up in the car. I tried to subtly turn it down when he wasn't looking, but after a few minutes, it went right back up. About four hours into the journey, the condensation started dripping onto my floorboard. I first noticed it when several drops of ice cold water hit my toes. Over the next few hours, my entire passenger floorboard was soaked. Water was actually squishing about. I had to keep my shoes on the entire way home and since they were sandals, anytime I moved, I got wet. Since the car was still blowing cold air, by the time we reached home, my toes were a lovely shade of blue. I'm almost surprised I didn't lose any to frostbite. When we made our last stop for something to drink (about two hours from home), when my husband turned, we could hear water sloshing. I'm not sure where exactly, but it was loud.

And to top it all off, I only got to see about five minutes worth of fireworkds because the mosquitos were so bad they chased us out of the front yard, and are partially obstructed view of the display downtown.

I wonder what goes through his mind when he calls my house late at night. I wonder why he does that, if he thinks it's appropriate. I wonder what goes through her mind when we tell her he was looking for her, questioning where she was and who she was with last night. In his poorly stitched, bleeding heart, he already knows the other boy's name. I can see him mouthing it, his eyes narrowing and darkening with hatred so painful and bottomless that it causes him to text message my father, to insult my sister and mother by comparing my sister to her cunning ways. I wonder why she cannot let him go, or at least be honest with him. They are not dating. She has a history of losers who verbally and physically abused her. He was wonderful, for the most part, but indifferent until it was too late to reconcile all the hurt he caused by his neglect.

When we asked him how he had treated her, his head and eyes lowered. He had responded, "Like shit."

And he wonders why she does not answer when he picks up the phone. She cannot fully let go of the familiar, but it must be done. Soon. I feel bad for them both.

They went up to the Kiosk end and the fire engine and ute parked in the areas designated for motor vehicles, while the idiot cops parked in the bike lane. The idiot cop who drove the police car got out not wearing any high vis gear - in fact he was wearing a dark jumper over his police uniform. His partner called out to him about the legality of parking in the bike lane. The idiot cop replied "The park is closed to bikes they shouldn't even be here" in an accent that reminded me so much of Guido Hatsis.

Being a bit of a stirrer I decided to do another lap and rode around again (there was other cyclists training in the park at the same time I was. When I went through again there was space for cyclists to pass the pigs and the fire engine and firies ute. I wrote a post on Sydney Cyclist and got a couple of replies. It is good to see that not everyone is on the side of the cops. I even got some good feedback from a staunch opponent.

I decided to call it a day eventually and rolled back home. Just as I was going to go I heard an explosion that I thought was a tube going off. I thought I was in trouble until I checked the tyre and found it was still very much intact. When I saw the spoke I knew the trouble was worse. The other times spokes have gone on me they have died quietly. Only to be noticed when the wheel was out of true, this time the spoke has broken in 2 places. It makes me think something got caught in the spoke?  I checked the wheel under the light of the bike headlight which I held in my mouth while I rotated the wheel around. I was able to get the bike home but could not be adventurous with regard my route home.

I took the fearless gear-less to Cheeky Monkey to get another spoke. The ride there was hairy enough. I was going to ride from there to Toastmasters at Petersham. I got there and they were busy. No problem I thought I would collect the bike on Friday arvo - if they got it done and given that there was going to be overtime on Saturday. The last 2 illusions were dissolved on Friday. Saras - a workmate whom I am supposed to be training decided to renege on an agreement we had that I would go early on Friday. I was soooo p!ssed off! I couldn't speak to Saras for most of the morning. I

t turned out my overtime was cancelled as the goods had gone to Brisbane so my only chance was to go to Cheeky that afternoon. When I left work a bit after 5 I was swearing heavily - I even used the words Robert Hughes used to describe the prosecutor when he got off his dangerous driving charge. I had left the front light on the fearless gear-less and I was using the light that I use on my helmet on the bike. The weather darkened as did my mood. I had some near misses but I got to Cheeky Monkey safely and on time to pick up the bike. Pushing 2 bikes home is not easy. I had to use the road on a couple of occasions and duck and weave around obstacles such as power poles and street furniture. On Erskinville Rd City Rail has erected some kind of screen to prevent people from throwing rocks at trains and has implemented a whole heap of obstacles I swore heavily as I went around them.

When I got closer to King St I was accosted by a couple of drunken idiots. One guy offered to take one of the bikes off my hands. Given that I was annoyed I told him in no uncertain terms to F@ckoff! He went down the road a bit and then yelled out "There was no need to talk to me like that! Did you hear that? Maybe we ought to tell him to F@CK Off?" I must remember to make a note for myself that I must not swear at drunken idiots in Sydney. I got bikes back and got them stowed safely. I am still not happy about Friday as it isn't fair that I carry the can for an idiot.

The spoke is not the only thing that has gone bung with the fearless gear-less, there is a high likelihood in my opinion that the non drive side crank is on it's way out. I will have a look today but we will wait and see. On Saturday Slowies the front tyre copped a tack - I suspect it has been around for a while but it went into my tyre and stayed there while the tyre slowly died. I pumped it up thinking it had been a case of slow leak caused by perishing. But when I found the tack I knew what had happened. I took the tack out and the tyre began to die. As I didn't have a spare tube I wound up patching the tube on the spot. It is not my favourite tasks and I had to let the others go. I patched the tyre and got myself underway.

When I got out the gates and on my way to Moore park I found the others gathered around one guy who copped a double puncture. We were going to be late for coffee at the cafe and there was a high likelihood that I was going to be late for the Rocks Markets. We went back the usual way with me leading - I found that I am not a good ride leader and I would say that I missed issues such as pedestrians up front and went through intersections where I should have gone through with the group. We got back to Marrickville safely.

I was terrified that the crank would come off and things would get even more sticky than what they were. I survived the ride.

Maybe X will tell me off for crying at work. Maybe X will give me the boot.

Bf gave me a nice mobile message saying he weighs up the good and bad things in life .. that keeps him going. The problem with workplace bullying is that 'you are reliant on the job' for paying the bills and if you don't have anything else to help that, you are held captive to the boss' whims of the moment. Now if I had something else, then it won't be so bad and I could 'leave easily'.. however, it is the interim of finding another job. and that's IF I can get another job.  Being in 'limbo' makes the stress that leads onto depression a lot worse. At work I cannot escape. I have a front line job. 

Fortunately, I have income protection which will help if I lose the job but sometimes you think it won't pay out for various reasons. You know what the small print is like.

One colleague told me he had been feeling the same (though he is stronger). He says that X thinks that a small mistake is the biggest mistake in the whole world. Mistakes can be rectified but I don't see why mistakes have to be made hell for employee. Sure we can correct things but sometimes it is a matter of opinion how we do things in our job and it is not always easy 'to think the same as a boss'. My colleague was told the other day to pack his bags and leave (he is still there!). Others have also had 'run ins' with X. X used to be fine, but now X is starting to only talk to me if X has a complaint. It is a shame as I normally get on with X 'outside of work'. In fact, I'd get on with most of my ex bullying bosses 'outside work'!

I was told off about moving one of X's cups to be cleaned (it was dirty!). Why didn't X stick on a note saying 'Please leave this filthy cup for days!'. I don't understand X at all. X even complained today that someone had moved X's cup and I had to say it wasn't me.. yes, act all defensive again. It is only a cup.

We all make mistakes and but it is the Way X tells you .. like a piece of rubbish. Instead of being constructive and helpful, it is put the blame on me.

Very very bad today. How will I get through the weekend as I have to work. In tears in the office and no one cares of course. Have thought about suicide a lot this week and I even told them but they don't  care. In fact,  I was in tears at work and they didn't bother to get anyone to replace me. I still had to deal with customers. Some nice support from some fellow colleagues who wondered how I was.

Did women have to have emancipation just to go through all this crap every day? How many times have I thought about getting pregnant just to get out?!

I have been bullied before. I seem to be the target. I can be quite independent. .which can my downfall! Bosses want to crush me. I have to be defensive so I am not. It is not easy at all, as you have to have a job or you won't get the bills paid. I am looking for other jobs but still am not having any luck.

I rang my bf who was lovely as always and tries to get the big picture. Very helpful but still I have put up with this, wondering whether I have a job or not. If I don't, then I will worry even more if I will ever get another job. I am sick staying there and it is making me worse.

        It was the best of days, it was the worst of days. It was a Friday during Spring break while I was in San Francisco staying at my friend's Victorian house, resting from the stressful application season. My friend and her housemate were at work, so I was left alone in the house. I had planned to visit Union Square, downtown, for a Spanish food festival. But before I headed out, I wanted to do laundry. At 10:00 am, I grabbed a load of clothes and, still wearing my sleeping bottoms and T-shirt, left the house and closed the door after me—locking myself out. 

        I didn't realize what I had done until I took the outside stairs to the first floor and, finding that the door to the laundry room was locked, had to go back upstairs and inside the house to get the keys. While I held my heap of clothes with one hand, I clumsily turned the knob of the door in a knowingly futile attempt to open the door. I couldn't believe I had locked myself out and that I would waste a whole day of my precious vacation trying to get inside my house. Irritated by the situation, I stood on the porch, facing the street, and held my heap of clothes, picking up a sock or shirt when it fell on the ground. I wondered what to do next. 

        I had left my cell phone and wallet inside the house, so I had to find a way to get in touch with my friend for free. Not only that, I didn't know my friend's phone number because I have all my numbers stored in my cell phone, so the only way I could communicate with her was through e-mail. I knocked on the neighbors' doors but nobody responded. I had no choice but head to a commercial area and find an establishment or a generous person who would let me use a cell phone or laptop with wireless access for free. I walked behind a short wall in front of the house, hidden from view of passersby, took my sleeping clothes off, put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and left my heap of clothes there. I walked down a hill to Noe Valley where, after twenty minutes of searching and asking people for help, I found a computer store. Somebody who appeared to be its owner, a stout middle-aged woman with short spiky black hair, stood on the sidewalk, puffing on her cigarrete while conversing with a tall blonde woman. As I entered the store, the owner turned to me and asked me: "What can I do for you?" For a few seconds, I wondered how I should phrase my situation. "I have an emergency...I locked myself out of my house and left my cell phone and wallet inside it. I don't have any money but I need to use the Internet to send an e-mail to my friend," I said. The owner gave me a sympathetic look and allowed me to use a computer free of charge.  

        My friend replied to my e-mail with the message "Awww...poor Alex =(," and then called me to tell me that she couldn't leave work to give me her keys and that her housemate, with whom she had spoken a few minutes earlier, had agreed to let me use her keys. The problem was that I had to find a way to get the keys from her office at the Public Defenders Office in downtown San Francisco, 3.5 miles away from the computer store. I thanked the tall blonde woman, who was an employee at the store, for her help and headed for a streetcar station. I hopped on the streetcar near Dolores Park and rested for the first time in what had already been, at 1:00 pm, a long day. But my respite was too brief. With the terrible mess that had preceded, I forgot that I didn't carry my wallet when I hopped on the streetcar, and since I didn't carry my wallet I did't carry my transportation pass, and since I didn't carry my transporation pass I would get fined for hundreds of dollars if an officer conducted a random ticket check. Thankfully, I reached my station after a few minutes and nothing happened.

        I walked toward the Public Defenders Office, happy that I would get the keys and end my unpleasant experience. At 1:30 pm, I was already hungry, so I planned on asking my friend's housemate to lend me money so I could get food. I also needed money to pay for a streetcar ticket for a ride back to the house. I thought that if I hurried I might even have time to eat Spanish rice with chicken and seafood at the Spanish food festival before it ended at 2:00 pm. When I got to the Public Defenders Office, a woman with curly black hair and a pudgy face greeted me at the desk. I asked for my friend's housemate. "You must be Alex," she said as she walked toward a pigeonhole, from where she grabbed an envelope. As she gave me the envelope, she then told me that my friend's housemate had left it for me. I opened it and found the keys and a note with instructions on what to do with them once I unlocked the door of the house. I looked at the woman, thanked her, and walked away, apprehensive about what to do next. 

        I got the keys, so at least I had solved one of my problems, but I still didn't have any money to buy food and a streetcar ticket. I had only two options: either ask a stranger on the street for money or walk 3.5 miles home up the steep, calf-straining hills of San Francisco. Even though I was hungry, tired, and loath to walk home, I couldn't bring myself to beg for money, which is what I felt asking strangers on the street for money would be. 

        Forty-five minutes later, I arrived home, sweaty, and ready to have a hearty lunch. I grabbed the heap of clothes I hid behind a short wall, walked to the porch, and unlocked the door. My terrible experience was over.

        I like to believe that there has to be a balance in the universe, that too many bad things cannot happen for too long before good things start to happen to counteract them. In all honesty, I know this belief has no basis. There is no logical reason why bad and good things have to balance each other—but I still like to believe that they do. 

        I went into the kitchen to prepare lunch, but before doing that I sat on the table to check my e-mail. The subject of message #399, received at 1:42 pm was "Yale MD Acceptance Notification." I opened my eyes wide and for a few seconds a barrage of questions bombarded my mind: What does this mean? Is it just an update? Could this be a rejection notification? Obviously, an "Acceptance Notification" is unlikely to be a rejection, but I didn't want to get too excited until I read the e-mail. I clicked on the subject line. The e-mail began:

"Dear Accepted MD Applicant:

Congratulations!  You have been accepted into the MD program at the Yale University School of Medicine."

It was real. My years of hard work had paid off. What had started as a terrible day, ended as one of the best in my life.