Freckles and Misery

Today is the ninth consecutive day of being at work. Five is the average working week. On the sixth day I was saying "funny, isn't it? I've just had a week at work and now I'm starting another one straight away!". On the seventh day:"This almost feels like the end of the week but to people who'd just come back it would still be the first half of the week!" On the eighth day: "I don't know why I feel so sad and I've got a cold and I can't face the world". It takes its toll, in other words.

In the eighth-day-feeling-rather-low mood I noticed what tiny, tiny things make me happy or sad.

Riding up Hunters Road on my bike I was whistling, daydreaming about something nice. A car went past and beeped its horn for a really long time. Like BBBBBBBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP. I wasn't doing anything wrong it was just a rowdy group of boys being boyish and rowdy and reminding me that their car was louder and faster than my bike. I was absolutely infuriated. I memorised the number plate and repeated it in my head all the way to work while fighting back tears of pure rage. I forgot the number once I got to work and was distracted by old ladies with zimmer frames smoking in the bike sheds (the smoking shelters went down the day before for the new no smoking policy).

The day after the horn incident, feeling pretty bleak, I was standing in the queue at the post office and overheard this:

Post office lady: Ooh, do you mind if I ask what perfume you're wearing? I really like it.
Customer: Do you? I think I smell of oranges.

I've no idea why but hearing someone tell a complete stranger "I think I smell of oranges" made me quite, quite glad to be a human being.