The evening. from hell.

Let me chronicle my day for all of you. It started off with a few little mishaps, nothing major. I poked myself in the eye right before lunchtime and ended up ejecting my contact into who-knows-where. Those of you who wear contacts know the crazy perception that comes from wearing only one lens - it should not be done for long. So I took out the other lens to even my, albeit blurry, vision out. I don't carry my glasses with me (but will from now on) so I just had no contacts.

(Let me also preface the rest of this post by saying that although I may have a tendency to get irritated easily and be an intolerant person in some regards... when actual, literal tragedy or just plain "suck" cross my path, I'm usually very level headed. I figure - why integrate emotions and make it all worse?)

Finished work, decided that I would take a kickboxing class to make pay penance for all I had eaten today. It was a great class and afterwards I felt calm, relaxed and productive.

Believe it or not, that calm was to last through most of what was to come.

I go into the women's locker room to get my bag and leave. Only... the locker I had used was jammed shut. And I mean, jammed shut. I go to the front desk to tell them I can't open my locker and therefore cannot get my keys and therefore leave. So after about a half an hour, in walks the maintenance lady (who should be feared and respected for she has a crowbar in her office). After a lot of pulling, grunting, snipping, banging and cursing (yes, even at the Y), she pries the locker open.

It's empty.

I feel like a complete tool.

So I go around checking the other lockers, just knowing I'm going to find my bag and look like the world's biggest horse's arse in front of this scary lady that possesses a crowbar.

My bag isn't there. My bag had been taken.

My bag, with nothing in it but my keys, dirty clothes, a beach towel, some shampoo (and here's what hurts) and my MP3 player... gone. I'm literally stuck there. No way to get in my car. No way to get into my apartment.

So I called my mom. She's at church, so I called Dad. Dad came and brought me my spare car key and made sure everything looked alright with my car.

Well my friend Robyn had stayed at my place while we went to the beach in June. She had my spare apartment key, so I called her and told her I would come to where she lives (Indian Trail) to get the key and avoid the $35 fee from having the maintenance guy come out "after hours."

At this point, I'm still calm. I was even kind of laughing about it. Well, chuckling. Let's not get carried away. I was also still full of endorphins from punching and kicking the air with Julianna. Those were quickly wearing off. Factor in also that it was now after 9 pm and I had not eaten since 2 pm.

So I head out to Indian Trail. Granted.. I had no contacts. I knew this but I also know that if I get close enough to a sign, I can read it even without lenses or glasses.

OK. BUT NOT IN THE PITCH BLACK MIDDLE OF BFE.

And did I mention this entire time it was pouring down rain, end-of-the-world style?

So I get out there and call Robyn for directions to her house. Myself being a person that possesses an abnormally keen ability for orientation, I didn't worry that it was dark, stormy and I didn't know where I was going.

I mention that the roads look like they are heading towards a flash flood, so she tries to detour me around that. But. I have no contacts in, it's blacker than black nanotubes and I have no idea where I am. I can't read the signs and Robyn.... really doesn't know the place like the back of her hand. So she's about as helpful as I am.

Myself also being an individual that can not stand to quit something that I've worked for, is having a hard time justifying saying "screw it" and turning back for the highway. But I'm close.

Here's where that moment came.

I had ended up BACK on Lawyers (where the detour BEGAN) and I had ended up pulling over to an intersection, getting out of my car in the pouring rain for the 3rd time so I could walk up to the street sign to read it. I read the name of the street to Robyn so she could get a bearing on where the *$%#&@*@*$ I was and she said:

"Emerald Woods? I don't know WHERE you are."

*SNAP*

That was Megan's last straw. Low blood sugar, dissipated endorphins, and stuck in.the.middle.of.nowhere.and.I.can't.see.a.bloody.thing. I could no longer deal.

Had I not possessed the level of pride I have, I would have called my mom and, through my desperate sobs, told her to call the Mint Hill police and make them come find me and escort me home. I'm tearing up now just thinking about it (not enough time yet, friends. Not enough time). I was done with a D.

Instead, I pulled myself together, headed down Lawyers determined to either hit 485 again or find a gas station that COULD ACTUALLY TELL ME WHERE I WAS.

With the help and guidance of the Good Lord, I shortly found myself noticing signs and places that were familiar and sure enough, there was the sign for 485. I'll admit it - I cried. It was the only relief I had felt all evening and I had reached my capacity.

So I called my apartment complex and had them come meet me with the key. Granted, it cost me $40 (I let the guy keep the extra $5 - hey. God Bless.) but now I'm at home, I have a house key and a car key. I've had a Mt. Dew and a sandwich. I'm still a little jacked up in a bad way, which is why I'm posting this blog - trying to purge. Digital catharsis.

I'm now going to sit in the bathtub.

To those who stole my bag: what goes around comes around.