It could always be worse. .

In my nearly 34 years, I've heard that over and over and over. Mainly from family who love to marinate themselves in a puddle of misery. Teenaged cousin gives birth to litter of bastard children? It could always be worse. You have to wait 120 days for your latest frivolous lawsuit settlement?It could always be worse. I roll my pant legs up and wade in shit stew from time to time as holidays and hometown visits dictate, while I cling to the belief things could always be better.

But I do have my poor-me moments. Wanna hear?

The aftershocks of a rough weekend spilled into Monday morning when I prayed for the courage to call in sick to work but instead took a later train. (I am grown up enough to know it's easiest to just show up for stuff. Just haven't gotten the puncuality thing down.) Tuesday I got to the train station early--an entire hour!--to make up for my Monday morning lateness but as luck would have it--the 6:57 was cancelled. Oh, the humanity!

And then this morning my power goes out which meant no alarmo for your amiga. Woke up 40 minutes late and I was kind of wondering if it had something to do with me ignoring a 1 a.m. phone call from a man in the electrical arts. Regardless, I attempted to go for it. Quick shower--no electricity meant no music and no blow dryer--the stuff that can slow a girl down in the a.m. Since my job is now light years away--my coworkers have gotten quite used to Wash-n-go Angie. I would have made it, if it wasn't for this cheerful considerate bus driver who had to wait not once, but twice for straggling passengers bolting across the street to hop on.

"STEP ON THE GAS. STEP ON THE GAS. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STEP ON THE GAS!" I screamed in my head at the driver. He didn't hear me.

Late again.

Yep, I was left feeling a bit sorry for myself as the train rolled out west this morning. And then it hit me. . . it could always be worse. I could be the woman for whom Rush Limbaugh uses Viagra.