you...have an extraordinary artistic talents or a gift with words...

That's what this random website said about someone born under my sign. Infact, they were 'on point' with quite a few statements they made. I'm not so much impressed as I am amused. Horoscopes are either really good or really crappy. The whole thing is a coincidence either way.

I'm not sure what's happening, I'm in a smudged spot, mentally. The words aren't flowing from my brain to my fingertips. So please forgive my jerky, undazzling prose...but I have to get this out.

Monday. I turned stiffly, scratched my cheek and yawned at the beeping alarm clock. It had been ages since I woke up at 7 am. I showered and cleaned up, mumbling random interview questions at myself in the mirror. I felt like a boxer, or like a ballerina before the curtain goes up. Calmly, I recited the mantra to myself. Calmly, I started to panic.

Sonny drove me to a Cleveland bus stop, and waited with me in the ruthless sun. I dreaded wearing the old uniform: black blazer, unyeilding dress shirt, black slacks and newish flats that pinched my toes. I munched on a makeshift breakfast sandwich I made while Sonny prepared for the trip. I couldn't taste the bread, or the egg or the sausage. Mindlessly, I munched. After a 15-minute wait, the bus pulled up in front of us, blowing dust and bits of debris into a crazy hurricane at my feet. Sonny kissed me sweetly and winked, squeezing my hand to convey his undying faith in my ability to get this job.

I boarded the bus, glancing over my shoulder, trying to sink that butterlies-loose-in-my gut feeling. I swear for two seconds I wanted to tear away from the bus and fling myself into Sonny's arms (yea, I'm a drama queen sometimes. who isn't?). But the doors shut and Sonny stood at the bus stop, waving and smiling after my chariot.

I took a seat on the clean, air-conditioned bus and glanced around at the decor. It was pretty swank. I could tell no one had dropped soda on the floor (drinking and eating aren't allowed) and I knew no one had pissed on any of the cloth seats. The vehicle was gleaming with pride. I relaxed a bit and pulled out the squat paperback on planning a successful wedding, inexpensively.

We zipped through town, stopping every 1/2 mile or so to pick up sweaty Clevelanders who stood squinting into the sun. The heat was just beginning, we all knew. You could tell by the delicate way it played with the skin on the back of your neck: gentle laps like the fires of hell. I tried to absorb as much ac as I could, and forced myself not to sneeze (it would seem so ungrateful!)

When the bus pulled up at Superior and 13th st., I was reluctant to get off. I gathered my book and slipped out of my jacket, popped a liquid ice mint in my mouth and stepped off the bus. The heat kicked me in the face. I hissed, "Goddamn" and walked along, waving the sleeve of my jacket to stir some feeble air. My stored supply of ac faded fast as I beat the sidewalk with my painful shoes.

The building I was looking for came into view, looming over the surrounding architecture like a majestic skyscraper from home. I smiled and slipped up my shirt sleeve to glance at my watch. I had a half an hour to butcher. A quick survey of the area revealed how unlikely it was that I would find a Starbucks or a mom-n-pop coffee shop, let alone a cafe. I sighed, the pang for NY ballooning in my heart and then deflating again. The deli next door would have to do.

Of course you know, as out of practice as I am, I purchased an idiotic item: grape juice. It's distracting to an interviewer to have someone sitting in front of you with a purple tongue and grayish teeth. Smooth move, I thought as I left the deli, too embarassed to exchange it. I entered the pristine lobby and snagged my eyes on the marble floor. It was impressive, to say the least. It smelled like money in there, and I inhaled voraciously.

TO BE CONTINUED...