Tales of a Me Who Does Not Want to Go to Work

A cell phone alarm is heard.
I hate morning. I wish that I were dead so that I could sleep forever.

The door is opened to reveal grey skies and drizzling rain.
I hate the rain. I hate Vancouver.

A bus passes by without stopping, splashing a young woman with muddy street water.
I hate public transit. I hate taking the bus to work. I wish I owned a hummer, specifically so that I would destroy the earth's resources and eliminate the usefulness of buses...in fact, I wish I had ten hummers. And I would leave nine of them idling in my driveway all day while I drive the tenth one to work, and then I would cut off a bus, and splash it with muddy street water. Yes, that's what I'll do.

A second bus passes by without stopping, creating a pristine metaphor for societal breakdown in which the vulnerable populace at bus stops are abandoned to face the elements, terribly, terribly alone.
I hate everything. I don't want to go to work. I hate work. I want to go back to bed and sob quietly under the covers while confused puppies lick my sopping hair.

A third bus passes by without stopping.
...Seriously, I don't want to go. And the buses aren't stopping, so clearly, God doesn't want me to go to work, either. And I'm sure there's a valid reason for me not to go, besides divine intervention. There could be an emergency. People get suddenly sick. Relatives die. Ummm...I could maybe get really dizzy and fall in front of the next bus, but a handsome stranger will notice my fall and whisk me out of the way just in time, so that we might start a Jane Austen novel in which he proclaims his love, but inevitably leaves me for an ugly girl with a larger inheritance? Maybe?

A fourth bus stops. A young woman's elaborate scheme is foiled.
Okay...maybe my bus will get into an inconvenient and time-consuming traffic accident. It's happened before...we crashed into the side of a lorry and there was a hail of broken glass and somebody screamed at it was all very dramatic. And once, my sky train ran over someone. It could happen again. I'd be traumatized...I couldn't go to work. Though, actually, when both of those things happened, I was on the way to work, too, and I still had to go. Crap. Okay...well... Maybe I will spontaneously combust. Though I doubt that would happen when it's this wet outside.

The bus arrives at its destination, and a young woman is released into the cruel, uncaring, world.

Fin.