It’s kind of like when, after it rains, you, the very, very bright you, for some reason, decides to take a short cut across a field of grass. You may question whether it’s dry but do it anyway. This feeling…it’s like that 7th step in that field when you realize that it is indeed still very, very wet. Your feet sink in and squish. The corners of your pinky toes smoosh against the mud that’s oozing in through the side of your canvas sneakers.
Across the field minutes later, shoes heavy, perhaps even pant legs now dragging behind you and scraping the sidewalk with each sodden stride. Yeah, it’s kind of like that…that sting in your cheeks when you realize, 10 minutes later, that somewhere after that soggy foray into the grass a piece of toilet paper found your sticky sole and has been a quiet hitchhiker below, causing no fuss, only accumulating dirt and tiny pebbles into the clumps of poo-colored dirt already dried like ugly, lumpy doughnuts around the base of your lower half.
So then, really, you’ve got to know that your whole day is fucked.