It was one of those days. I experienced a series of fraught interpersonal communications or, to be more precise, miscommunications. I locked my keys and phone in the storage space and had to run home down Oracle, in 100+ heat, and then back, only to find that the key I had hoped was a back-up was not, making it necessary for me to return home a second time for the bolt cutters. Even simple tasks like sorting laundry went strangely awry.

And now it's one of those nights. I desperately needed to get away for a bit, so much so that a trip to Wal-Mart seemed like a legitimate pastime. But I never made it out the door. Skylar didn't want me to leave. All the stress of her first week of school and the exhaustion that accompanies it provoked her herding instinct. I understood. Nevertheless, she is sleeping while I sit here consumed by a paralytic claustrophobia.

Because I'm too antsy to read, I put in a DVD. Even that seems like more responsibility than I can handle, though. The menu screen has been playing for forty-five minutes, yet I can't bring myself to press play. Were I not fairly certain that, given the way my luck has been today, I would crash my bicycle, I would go for a ride in the hopes of dissipating some of the tension that's consuming me. I hate to resort to pharmaceutical assistance, but fear that Benadryl may be my best option.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, everyday
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