Just one of those days

I am pedaling against a strong headwind today. I am traveling on only four or five hours of sleep and my thighs still ache from biking up a hill yesterday to visit a friend. Progress is slow and painful. The bottom edge of my shirt is crunchy with flour, or lentil paste, or yogurt; there is a streak of mango down my shorts from the time I dropped the fruit and did not catch it. Nothing seems to be going quite right for me today.Class is tedious, but I am out of absences and missed homeworks. It represents two hours I might have been sleeping but instead must spend struggling to focus my mind on a lecture I don't need and homework I already know how to do. I am only scheduled to work six hours today, though it will be no surprise when the final total is nearly half an hour more. I struggle to stay alert, finding it difficult to pay attention to the few patrons even for the fifteen minutes assigned to me. Though I look forward to the escape from the guard stand, my lessons are equally excruciating. My students are exceptionally energetic and inattentive. Even the little girl who once clung to me and had to be continuously pried off and sent back to the wall can now put her head underwater. This new discovery has made her suddenly gung-ho, and now she has to be repeatedly hauled back to our group and told to keep her head above water to listen. Another boy's father stops by to tell him that he must listen to me; the command produces little effect on the boy but provides me with yet another sign that I am losing control of my class. Back in the guard room, my conversation is awkward and stilted, even by my own low standards. I escape as soon as I possibly can, only to be faced with yet another bike ride. My legs are as dry and flaky. Though there are for once several patches of my skin that have managed to achieve a color at least a couple shades darker than my default translucent white, the tan is obscured by chlorine-fueled desertification. I have spent far too much time immersed in pool water. The smell clings to my hair, lingers on my body, and emanates from me whenever I sweat. This might be a problem if I had a social life outside of the pool, but the only people I am hanging out with tonight are my family. We play Apples to Apples and by the time my father wins the game with six cards, I have only managed to acquire one. Later, I nearly pass out into the dishes I am supposed to be washing. Perhaps it is time for bed.