on crossing streets

I've always been late.

Not that I'm tardy nor would I call myself a complete slack, it just seems that every time I try to make it on time, out of the blue comes either a bus accident that will put me back for at least ten minutes, five minutes away from work, or getting the red light the same time I get to be ten metres away from crossing. I know, the world hates me. 

Along the lines of saying sorry for being late to my over-bearing egotistical cunt-face of a boss, I have also given up putting reason to every single time I get late. I even tried trying to bypass three blocks' worth of weekday foot-traffic just so I could be on time. Trust me, it never works.There's always either these middle-aged couple who thinks they could walk as slow as 5-fucking-metres an hour or the usual Japanese/Korean tourists who thinks they could just stop in the middle of a foot-path so they can admire at a piece of rock along with prams, busy business-men and me. Yes, working in the big city IS a lot of fun. 

This all boils down to immaturity in the end- the lack of discipline; getting things sorted out and leaving at least half an hour before work and not spending an extra five minutes to watch Pink get soaking wet whilst being tied to a piece of silk/satin rope on her Grammy performance. 

It's 3:04 in the morning now and I need to wake up in four hours. Guess I do need to go to sleep now if I do want this to stop. Wish me luck, thank god I have Aaron to wake me up when he get's home from work.