Yesterday started off badly and got worse from there. I left for Holy Cross Cemetery early to stop at Rite-Aid. (Before I went to California, I had dropped off a slide from my wedding to have a print made. It is now lost. I waited while the processing place was called, then talked to them myself. I'm furious, not only because it's one of the few slides I have of our wedding, but because nobody expressed the slightest apology, regret, or understanding of my distress.)
Still in plenty of time (I'm notorious for being early), I headed for Mays Landing. Here's a quick synopsis of what happened:
First, at the left turn onto Route 9, the jerk in front of me started through the green light, then--seemingly for no reason--jammed on his brakes. I hit him, luckily not very hard, and he blithely went on his way. (Later, I saw my car had sustained no damage, but it was upsetting. No, let me rephrase that: It pissed me off.)
Second, I followed driving directions from Mapquest, which I know is in business just to drive me crazy. They told me to get off the expressway exit for CR 575, but the road isn't marked that way and I didn't realize it until it was passed. Had to drive roughly 10 miles further (and pay a $2 toll) to get to the north/south rest stop to turn around.
Third: Got there, but thought I was turning into the parking lot, when I actually arrived at a one-way road that forced me to go right back northbound!
Fourth: Had to drive at least 8 or 9 miles further to get off the damn expressway. By this time, I was screaming and cursing--lets off tension, doncha know--but not crying because I didn't want my mascara to run.
Fifth: Stopped at several restaurants, gas stations, and stores to ask directions, first to Mays Landing, then to the cemetery. Naturally, I consistantly found the handful of visitors from Upper Mongolia who had never heard of either.
Okay, enough of this! I got to the cemetery about quarter of one, 45 minutes late. I didn't expect anybody to still be there, but members of Joe's family were just drifting toward their cars and I was able to speak to them. Chatted with George W., got a mass card, then left.
Driving home--an annoyingly easy and straightforward route--I tried to be philosophical about my ordeal, but barely succeeded. When I got in, Pat was at the bay and because of my precarious emotional state, I did something really weird: I turned on the television and ate my lunch in front of it.
I'm going to end this on a high note, though: I opened the mail and found a check for $2500 which darling Aunt Claire had thoughtfully left me as a bequest. Hey, things were looking up! (As I mentioned to friend Pat R., there's nothing like money to make people happy.)