Things rarely happen as planned for me, and I hear that's just life.
I awoke bit early and in an unusually cheery mood one day last week. I started my coffee, turned on the TV and was mentally preparing a great breakfast, when my good-day train made an unscheduled stop at the corner of dog doo and living room carpet.
Though that station was passed more often than not, occasionally a stinky, little train hopper named Stella would require a stop.
After a quick top-off of caffeinated fuel, the train continued as scheduled for the day. Luckily, that was just a minor bump in the road.
Speaking of bumps, yesterday was full of potholes. Just when I thought I had coasted through the very difficult journey that is putting together a newspaper, you know, reporting, photographs, web updates, page design and getting it to the printer on time, my Thursday train struck a giant pothole. I'd made a large error on the front page, the first of my career, and spelled a word wrong on the headline and failed to run a story in its entirety. The Friday train couldn't arrive soon enough.
My train of life makes stops and route changes quite often it seems and no matter which form of directional guidance I chose, it typically gets turned around — insert "make a U-turn when possible" in an electronic voice here.
Just the other day, my male counterpart and I found ourselves riding on the rental property train. Passing by the lavish, resort-style rentals (because we have dogs) we went straight to the mid-level apartments and town homes.
The train stopped for some sight seeing before making a slight route change which lead through sale properties.
After quickly stopping to pick up a realtor, lender and some very supportive parents, we found ourselves completely lost.
Winding through the language of a home loan application, down the emotional mountain and past the sea of desire, I did all I could to keep from vomiting.
How we managed to miss our stop along the route to rented bliss and wound up at the chaotic, cluttered homeowner's station I'll never know, but then again, that's life.
Now, finding ourselves with nothing but a map and two directions to choose from, I kind of wonder where the poop train went. That seems like a much simpler ride.
Armed with our map, cellphones to call home and a refill of coffee, we're off in search of the next life train.
—Megan Tilk is a reporter who also writes a weekly column for the Boonville Daily News. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or through her blog: megantilk.blogspot .com.
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