the 'power of positive thinking' is bullshit.

Last night, while trying to fall asleep, I made the affirmation that today would be a positive mental thinking day.  I think that my thoughts are not entirely positive, in fact, majority of them are pretty darn negative.  Little mental death daggers at people.  I get up this morning, do a little yoga, add a little svasana with positive thoughts.  Today is a big-ish day for me.  I’m visiting another firm’s office to review documents and pleadings.  Another small but important step in my journey as a construction litigation paralegal.  I’m pretty excited.  I tried to dress myself appropriately – button down shirt, understated make-up, pressed slacks with a slighter higher waist than I prefer, not-too-high-or-flashy-shoes (although they are my boots, which have been deemed ‘stripper boots’ by my significant other, they’re covered by conservative slacks, no one will know).  I’m set.  Except, I’m a munchkin and my slacks are scraping the floor.  As I go to leave, I get the brilliant idea to hike my pants up to my natural waist – a good 5” higher than I wear them, so that they will not be soiled on my 10-minute jaunt to work.  I’m a smarty. 

I suit up for my walk to work.  Watching me suit up, you’d think I’m going on an expedition.  Ipod head phones in ears, then wool coat, buttoned, Ipod placed in right upper pocket.  Gym bag over shoulder and positioned in the middle of my back, followed by purse with a weight equivalent to three dead babies.  Cane umbrella draped on left arm.  Ear muffs over ear buds, turn on Ipod, return to pocket.  Dunkin Donuts coffee in right hand and I’m out the door, no need for scarf today.  Wait, hair is stuck in my coat; unload DD coffee and umbrella, adjust hair, fluff hair, umbrella then coffee.  Out the door. 

I step into the towering inferno that is my condo hallway.  Holy Dante!  Why is it a good 20 degrees hotter here than in the condo?  Into the elevator, down 18 floors, through the lobby, into the great downtown Seattle outdoors and thus begins the realization that I have made a horrible mistake.  Every step I take on my .3 mile walk drives my starched slacks right up my ass.  Wedgie.  It’s uncomfortable, it’s getting worse.  I power walk my way towards my office building with a no-nonsense stride that I hope is hiding my increasing discomfort in an effort to reach work as fast as Fluer-ly possible.  But, as the city blocks wiz by, I’m starting to sweat and now I’m stuck behind some douche-bag that just has to read while walking.  He’s slowing me down.  I do the pedestrian equivalent of cutting him off so he runs into the chairs outside of Café Senso.  Haha!  Jerk, who walks that slow?  I round the corner and am on my favorite stretch of city street – in between Nordstroms and Barneys.  The Nordstrom Airheads are just arriving for the day and I always slow down to check out the fashions.  It’s like my own daily fashion show, what they lack in common sense and IQ, they make up for in style.  Except they all wear all black and that is just retarded.  I like a jolt of color, but then again I have been known to like attention and nothing gets attention like a button-down red satin shiny shirt.  Today I can’t slow down, which slightly enrages me; I keep the pace despite the sweat coagulating on my upper lip, my neck and starting to mat my hair down.  I round another corner and weed my way through the stupid hippy bike messengers hanging out in front the Monorail Espresso.  Silently I curse them, vowing to one day take one of them down with my cane umbrella – my bike messenger dislike is another story. 

I’m finally in front of my building, waiting to cross the street.  Thoughts fly to the boiler-like heat I will encounter upon crossing the City Centre’s threshold.  Passing my DD cup to the left hand, I go to unbutton my coat, but stop.  I cannot be seen with my pants up around my natural waist.  They look like, Mom jeans!  I leave my coat buttoned and hope my office is colder than a witch’s tit, as usual.  In the building, I make for a mad sprint up the escalator only to be held up by a couple of chatty Cathys’ that can’t move to one side of the escalator.  Don’t you know office escalator etiquette!  I hate you both, I hope you trip, or something embarrassingly similar.  At the floors 13-20 elevator bay, I arrive in time to hop into a boarding elevator, but decline when I see it will be a) nose to neck full, and b) it’s occupants are mostly 20-something receptionists that no doubt bathed in cheap perfume.  Sensing my pores have enlarged to saucer size in an effort to cool my overheating body, I know they will be working overtime sucking in tainted air.  I don’t want to die the death of perfume asphyxiation, especially since I throw out insults at the threat of disgraceful death.  Instead I patiently wait for a new elevator to arrive, only to be cut off by some short bitter-beer faced man.  I want to stab him in the leg with my pointed-toe boot, but instead I wish that his wife cheats on him and his children hate him.  4 of the people riding the elevator with me need to get off at floors sequentially arriving before mine.  Dipsticks!  As the doors close, the nitwit at the back shuffles around to hit her floor, disrupting everyone and spilling my coffee on my hand – are you confused?  Did you not read the elevator memo?  Do that shit before you move to very back of the elevator or don’t do it at all!  Of course, this woman has never ridden in an elevator ‘cause she systematically blocks departing people as they try to escape.  Finally she land next to the buttons.  Playing with her security card, she’s waving it in front of the security card processer thing – now I know works for Callison and is probably a hack architect.  Beep, beep beep.  Stop it you TWIT!  You friggen look like a down syndrome Naomi Watts and I hate her ‘cause she was in Mulholland Drive (I think, I can’t be sure because my rage has taken over) and that movie was the worst David Lynch movie, it sucked! 

See the negativity?  I’m writing this day off ‘cause I mentally dug myself into a negative hole that no amount of positive thinking can redeem.  Tomorrow is a new day.  And, it’s Date Night.