So this is what happened

So first of all, the president decides to have his birthday party around the corner from the place you work, so you can't catch the train in because it's not running.
So you take a cab, because you got all caught up writing those skill sets for that standardizing thing they're doing this fall at that one place you work, and you didn't really leave the house early enough to factor in not being able to take the train. You briefly beat yourself up for having to pay twenty dollars for your own lack of organization, then shrug it off and forget about it. Then you realize you've forgotten an essential item of work clothing, which you have to go and buy from a store around the corner. Make that a dis-organizational cost of twenty eight dollars. Face palm.
Then you get to work and you realize that there's some other program going on in the space and your class doesn't start for an hour and fifteen minutes. One of your kids has also not realized this and is looking very confused, asking you what to do now. You go upstairs, with the kid in tow, figuring you'll just sit in the conference room and hang out until the class starts. But all the other big kids are there because they're having a meeting of some sort with the Powers That Be. So you sit down with that one kid and draw with markers while the meeting goes on. You also plays noughts and crosses and hangman, and feel annoyed that the big kids have to sit through a pointless, boring meeting full of endless blathering on that wastes time and achieves nothing. You also feel glad that you're not actively involved, because making that one kid guess "chicken butt" when you're playing hangman is much more entertaining than discussing the company's plans for progressive levels of instruction.
So then it's your class, the one where the kids really like you for some reason, and you teach it, and it's rad, and you feel pretty good.
Then it's the big kids and they do their Big Important Act for the Big Important Thing in Washington or wherever the hell it is. Aaaaand...your kids sort of suck. It isn't really their fault, or your fault, either. They got thrown on to an apparatus that only one of them has ever used before, working under conditions that none of them are used to, with a month to put together an act. So you have to cut some stuff and rearrange some stuff and plan an extra rehearsal and it's all pretty much OK. You still wish that they could have been wonderful and perfect and had a super-awesome expertly choreographed act that they performed with flawless technique...but you tell them that they worked hard and did a good job and it's all coming together the way it should.
So while you're putting your shoes on, the stupid hippie in charge gets on your case for being late for this one thing with this one Rich Kid whose parents might bankroll a bunch of shit or something. You know you should be on time just as a general rule, but you've been late to a bunch of other classes and she's never gotten on your case about it before. She only cares this time because she wants to kiss up to this Rich Kid's parents so they'll give a bunch of money to the company. She pretty much tells you this when she informs you that you are to do everything possible to keep Rich Kid and his family happy. You consider asking whether blowing Rich Kid's father would fall into the category of Keeping Them Happy, but decide it might be counterproductive. Instead you agree to mend your wicked, tardy ways, hastily tie your sneakers, and haul ass out of there. You rant to your skinny juggler friend (who works with you at this one place) about what a stupid bitch the hippie in charge is. He agrees with you whole-heartedly.
So you get done teaching and you want to go practice, but the president's still having his birthday shin-dig and it's basically impossible to get on a bus or a train or anything. So you walk for about a million miles, then get on a bus that takes about ten thousand years to get downtown, then walk for another million miles to get to that OTHER bus, which takes another ten thousand years to arrive. You get to the practice space at the time that you're usually getting ready to leave it. You are not amused.
You are even less amused when you can't find either of your i-pods and can't work your acts to music because of it. You wonder if this will incur a dis-organizational cost of about three hundred bucks to replace the lost i-pods and decide to wait a few days and see if they show up before buying anything new. You practice, and then you feel a bit better.
Then you have to get home. You started later than usual, and practiced for longer than you thought you would. This means that there are no longer any buses running to your place of residence. You munch spicy almonds and contemplate whether you should walk through the scary, rape-y industrial area to the train, or shell out for a cab. Eventually, the amount of almonds you eat makes you think that a walk would probably not be the worst thing in the world. So you chug on over to the train, singing Johnny Cash songs in your horrible, off-key voice that is 99.9% effective in warding off would-be muggers. Then you wait for your train for about a jillion years, then ride on up to the 'hood, after which you walk to your house, snapping your gum as obnoxiously as possible.
And you FINALLY get home, and your room-mate is stomping about cleaning things, and everything smells like bleach. You can't be bothered figuring out what she is so passive-aggressively demonstrating anger about, so you head to the couch and you write a bunch of stuff in your blog for the first time in about a zillion ka-billion years.
And then you feel sort of better, but you're still quietly hoping that your stupid-ass hippie boss gets scabies from bathing infrequently, and your room-mate passes out from all the bleach fumes and bangs her head on the tiles. You also think Obama should hire a better logistics team so that his goddam birthday party doesn't effectively isolate an entire neighborhood by cutting off all public transportation to and from it. You ruminate on the fact that you are really not a very nice person, then decide that maybe you are just not very nice when you are tired and inconvenienced and dealing with difficult people. You can't be all that bad if that one kid was happy to hang out with you and draw pictures of penguins and play word games for over an hour during that boring-ass meeting. You will probably be ok.