Racing Buses...

First Monday of the year I started like a new born, anxious but full of anticipation. I woke up painfully early, made my bed, had a healthy breakfast and made my way to the gym (not like new borns would be hitting the treadmill...).

At work I planned the week, and that's when the terrible twos made their appearance, "do I really have to do that?", "why does he have such a funny face?", "why isn't there any tea? I want tea! Give me tea!!!" And then I started smoking. I skipped childhood and went into adolescence because there was no tea at work... 

After lunch I chilled out a bit and decided that work was no good, that I needed to move to an island far far away. Thankfully that lapse in judgement was very temporary (like my 20s) and I looked at my bank statements and realised I needed to work really hard and save a lot harder to pay the debts I have.
After the panic I got back to work, had several doubts about what I should be doing with my life (I'm 34 years old, ffs, I'm only a temp!), sat down, finished what I was doing, packed my stuff and went to catch my bus.

At the bus stop I checked and the next bus was in 20mins
"Race the bus Carolina, race the bus"
The only child like moments I have left in this city
"Race the bus Carolina"
I walk to the next bus stop and think "should I wait?"
Race the bus
And I have my audiobooks like an old person, wearing my hiking boots like a middle age person,
and I'm racing buses like the crazy person I am.

The day ends with me buying a bottle of cava, and ingredients for lunch for the next two days. Me drinking it, cooking, getting slightly drunk and writing this. And realising that as hard as I try to become someone else, the idea of someone better, this is who I am, the crazy one who races buses.

Note 27th February 2016: 
I forgot to post this on the day I actually wrote it

I still race buses, every day.