I love it when Bryan is out of town for a bit.  It lets me have time to myself and watch trash tv.  I think it’s the mark of a healthy relationship, to welcome time apart.

Well, all, the American Justice system still works.  I guess.

My morning was glorious in that I didn’t even wake up until 7:15, a time I’m normally at work.  Can you imagine?  It was like a vacation.  And where I was heading, I could’ve walked to (in warmer weather).  I could get used to working down the street from my house.  How does one go about working downtown?

So then, my morning went all sorts of crappy.  And a lesser person might keep it from you, but oh no, OVERSHARE is my middle name. 

I head toward the courthouse.  I’ve visited the courthouse before.  I got married there.  No biggie.  I note that the address on my juror form is on Holmes.  Okay, I figure, it’s on the Holmes side of the square.

Except, I learned quickly, Holmes is not part of the square.  At all.  So I loop around on Holmes, having made it to the scary part of Holmes, and realize that there are two courthouses downtown: local and federal.  I am to report to the federal courthouse.  About five minutes from now.  Of course, I miss the parking lot completely and in a harried effort to make it back, turn the wrong way down a one way street.

(Remember that Sarah’s head is not working lately.  And this is merely a warm-up.)

I get off that street quickly and see a parking garage, so I park on some raised level inside of it. (Proof that Sarah lives in a small town: she takes no note of any details.) I hit the ground running and realize that I have circled so many times that I have NO IDEA where I am.  But there’s the Square!  I can always find a bar in a pinch, and I know that House of Brews is open for coffee, so I head there to ask for directions.

They are closed.  Bullocks.

So I keep walking toward my church.  I know that my church is by Holmes.  I find Holmes and head in the direction of the courthouse.  I check my cell phone: 8:25.  I’m ten minutes late.  I march up the courthouse steps and see a sign (AS I AM CHECKING THE CLOCK ON MY CELL PHONE) that says no cell phones are allowed inside.  I beg the old men inside to please let me leave it up front and go inside.  I am exhausted, I’m sweaty, and I’m frazzled.  No dice, they say.  You gotta take it back to your car.  And that shouldn’t be hard, considering you were SUPPOSED to park in the lot next door.

Of course, I didn’t.

I parked.. over.. in that… garage..

I had NO IDEA where I parked my car.  None.  I slipped into the first garage, crossing my fingers and recounting karmic deeds and praying that my car would be in there.  Of course, I had not noted my parking deck, either, so I started at the top (5th) floor and walked my way down.  My car was no where to be found.  I was now a blubbering mess.

I walked down a bit and saw another garage.  I had nothing left at this point, so I (again) started at the top and walked down until — by the grace of God — I saw my MOXXXIE.  I get in my car and hug her steering wheel and drive over to the courthouse.

Where I sat for four hours and then was dismissed because they didn’t want me on the jury.

The End.