Thursday morning I woke up and saw that my sister had left me a voicemail a few minutes earlier. I knew what it meant. It meant our mother had died. She was decaying from dementia for five years. The whole process was torturous.

I put my bike in wife's car and drove it to my mother's place so I could say goodbye to her body. She had left wishes to have no funeral or memorial service and to donate her body to science. The hospital was about to pick her up. I left to drive my wife's car to the repair garage and found that the city had towed it. In my mental haze from my mother's death, I had failed to read both parking regulation signs. The new one said that parking was for commercial vehicles only until 1pm. I took the subway and the long walk to the pound and paid the $185 towing fee. Ouch. That is separate from the fine, and I haven't even looked at the ticket for that. Ouch again.

My rode her bike and met me at the pound.

So Thursday would have to count as a bad day commuting.

We left the car at home and rode our bikes. That was good.

I took three days off from work, and today was my first day back. It was hard to decide between the subway and the bike. I chose the bike, and it was a good decision. I'm still reeling with a bad sense of time and everything. I'm bursting out crying several times a day.

Today counts as a good commuting day.