Eleven

One of the all-time great moments in movie history was in the classic mockumentary "This Is Spinal Tap." Character Nigel Tufnel is showing off his amplifier, and is proud to showcase that one of the knobs has a highest setting of eleven, thus surpassing traditional knobs that only go from 0 to 10.  He proudly states, "It's one louder."  It cracks me up every time I think about it.

The great irony of this is that today, November 11th - otherwise known as 11/11 - was actually an eleven for me.

My usual twenty minute ride to work was met with one barrier after another and took me forty painstaking, god awful minutes. One freeway was closed off for an accident and every turn I made thereafter was down a street that was blocked off for road construction.  How can every road be closed for construction?  Worse yet, every driver was driving slowly and/or driving stupidly and/or busy talking on the phone WHEN THEY SHOULD BE CONCENTRATING ON THEIR DRIVING. (Sorry, I just had to get that off my chest.  Seriously, people.)

I got to the office thirteen minutes late for my meeting and spent the rest of the day feeling like I was woefully behind. The people in the meetings - those people! - were talking too slow and too much and about things that (I say this with love) could have waited.

The lunch I forgot at home was no good and the one I had to go out to get instead with twenty minutes to spare was not so great either.

For the afternoon round of meetings, I had to forgo the thirty seconds of prep time I had planned on and I moved meeting to meeting, minute by minute, wondering if anyone was onto me.  I'm guessing they probably were.  They are probably talking right now about what a fraud I am.

On the way to dinner, these three things happened in rapid succession:  the "service" light came on in my car reminding me to get an oil change (who cares), the "tire" light came on indicating I have low tire pressure (I'll take my chances), and the "fuel" light came on indicating I could run out of gas at any moment (but why bother stopping now, we're going for broke).  The promise I made to my friend to meet twenty minutes early for dinner turned into an apology for being ten minutes late and a proclaiming of my official status:  "I am a hot mess."

I got home minutes ago, and I still feel as if I should consider breathing in a brown paper bag for the rest of the night.  Am I moving too fast, or is the world moving too slow?  Today I really can't tell.  Either way, today was definitely an eleven, any way you look at it.  The whole day was one louder.