I was all ready to be sitting RIGHT NOW in the car on my way to the fairgrounds with Sydney after the school drop-off, but a few minutes ago as I was standing at the door, Summer reminded me it was 30-Minute Delay Wednesday. Of course it it. So another Wednesday with my psyche feeling like a cymbal that has been dropped on the floor. Thank you very much, East Noble; I find these Wednesday rants so cathartic. I can spell cathartic because I did not have four years of screwed-up Wednesday mornings and English classes. I’m probably exaggerating; of course I am. But these stupid Wednesday 30 Minute Delays bring me to it, and every darn week I let them catch me off-guard.
It has grown all out of proportion for me, I know. I think it has become the scapegoat for lots of frustrations in my life. I want to incite riots over this; I want to march on the school corporation office and demand the head of the person who came up with this Wednesday farce. I want to be a partisan fighting against The Thousand Year Wednesday Delay. Oh yeah, next year it’s on Mondays. Okay, let’s call it the 30 Minute Delay Regime.
We need codes and safe houses and . . . blood pressure pills.