One Sequined Glove Short of a Pair - or - Mandy Called

I set the alarm on my phone to go off this morning at 8:00am and to the sound of birdsong. What I got instead was two verses of, 'San, you're a lazy fool with three hours to do your homework'. You see, when you put off work from the previous night your day really starts as an extension of the day before. And yesterday was a particularly bad day and today wasn't looking too promising.

With a yawn, a quick shower and a change of undies, I thought to myself with mantra like repetition, 'just a couple more weeks', undecided as to whether such short a time until the end of term was a good thing. On the one hand it's just two weeks until this work is all over. On the other, it's just two weeks to do all this work. Still, over the horizon was a month off school and a Spring Break for one to Boston (see 'Spring Break for One'). Even nearer in sight was the book I ordered online that was surely to arrive today. For the latter I had to just get through the day. For the former, I had 'just a couple more weeks.'

So I did the three hours homework, went to work at my job and my Tim from The Office impression (looking to an invinsible camera with bewilderment); I engaged in formal conversation via e-mail with my boss, seated beside me, and met with my classmates to prepare for a presentation, all the time repeating my mantra and looking forward to curling up with a cup of cocoa and a sequined glove to read the unauthorized biography of Michael Jackson that was waiting for me.

The long day was finally over and I opened my mailbox like a Pez dispenser, awaiting my treat. On top there was a letter from the company with whom I was booking my flight to Boston. It came with an "Important Notice", printed on red paper that read, "This affects your flights." No kidding. It seems the "subject to availability" clause finally got me and "due to the immense popularity of this promotion" all seats were taken for the offer of the free flight (excluding tax) that I had won. A little disappointed but not defeated, I rummaged further through the mailbox until I reached the bottom. There was nothing else for me. The book had not come. I sighed, closed the mailbox with my one sequined gloved hand and moonwalked back to bed, hoping that the next day would start anew, with a better song - maybe something by Michael Jackson - and that the book would arrive.