The boat was relatively on time today. Two minutes late is a good day. The sky was a high, cool curtain of white clouds — a nice break from what has seemed like five months of heatwaves. I sat in the top deck quiet room and listened to a podcast.

It came time to disembark, and I stood near the front of the crowd, knowing how slow I walk and how tight that connection to my bus always is. We were released into the cattle chute and I started my march eastward to Third. On the way, everyone had to go around/step over some homeless people who had just laid their stuff and their bedding right across the narrow bridge that connects the terminal with Marion Street.

I missed a couple traffic lights and started to fret about my bus. As I waddled down Third toward Columbia, I saw it down the block, approaching the red light. So I waited across the road. I waved my arm to get the driver’s attention. I was ten yards away.

The light finally turned and I started crossing, still waving to the driver. He ignored me and pulled out into the lane. HEY! I shouted. HEY!! The bus blew right by me. I couldn’t believe it. Because I am eight and a half months pregnant and hormonal, I had to sit down and cry for a minute or two. Fucking asshole, I thought. Fuck this pathetic, provincial backwater of a “city” and its joke of a transit system.

So that’s why I was late to work, again.

But today is the penultimate day. It’s to be expected. I think every day this week I have been presented with some kind of public transit incompetency in my commute, or at the very least something irritating. Maybe the coup de grace tomorrow will be a 45-minutes-late ferry that causes me to miss my doctor appt!

Anyway. Eating lunch at my desk now. Leftover green beans and mashed potatoes from last night. Mmm. Snack later will be a pear and a slice of cheese. I will attempt to avoid being tempted by the junk food. I realized today that being at home will vastly improve my diet. No more eating out, no more desperation candy bars. It will be lots cheaper, too.

Last night I did not sleep well, as always. Woke up multiple times to pee or change positions or otherwise sit/lie there trying to get back to sleep. At some point around 4am, Kona woke up from a bad dream and started howling/crying like she does when she has one of her little doggy nightmares. Brian and I both got out of bed to go hug her and pet her. I feel bad for thinking this is the cutest thing in the world.