Six A.M., the crack of dawn, raining to drown the entire Earth: this is Monday, April 20, 2009.

Since I always carry my umbrella, kindly donated by my new club associate, I don’t need to worry whether I have one with me, although I’ve been known to leave said umbrella at work, where I ostensibly help senior unemployed to: find jobs, work the computer, take online computer tutorials, take online typing tutorials, and otherwise FIX THEIR LIVES FOR THEM!

It honest-to-God looks like the final deluge, which, they say, Noah witnessed millenia ago. Rainwater races down the hill from the bridge growing into a river, flowing past me as I wait, and wait, and wait, in the Flood of all Downpours, in the wind, (said to be the satan, don’t you know)? I can believe that! So hard, against my winter coat, bending my umbrella in an attempt to collapse it, so I must hold it at the very top, so as to shorten the handle, to save the life of my neat, bright scarlet protector.

I peek out from under my struggling, red shield, to see if the number 5 is on its’ way, hoping that it is, but it isn’t, no, of course not. Why should the number 5  be on time? Every time I wait near the top of the hill, where, forsooth, the bus stop is located, the bus eludes me, and the four other people waiting with me. I seem to be the only one with an umbrella. The others are wearing long jackets which have hoods. Strangely, covered as I am, in an allweather full-length “waterproof” mushroom- colored coat, I am wet, and cold, and near to giving up and calling in to work that I am not arriving until twelve noon, thank you very much! My hands are freezing, and my ears are threatening to ache, tonight.

Please, please, oh warm, dry, comforting bus number 5, show up! Show up, now, before I give up! Please, number five, I believe in you. You can do it! You can do it! I know that you can do it! Please.

I peek out again from out under my red, protecting umbrella, my pet, my shield, and squint my wet eyes, liner and masquara running down my cheeks, to espy, do my eyes believe it? The number five bus, or, at least, A bus, riding the curb, splashing rainwater, is barreling down the hill. It screams, and screeches to a grinding break-dip of a stop, and I smile at the bus driver, relieved beyond belief, as I step up.

And my day has now started. Now, all I have to do, is make it up the curve, around the hill, across the street, around  which cars careen at a frightening speed. But, be of good cheer! Half of this Odyssey is over!