Here we go again. As soon as the white stuff is gone, the orange stuff appears. You know the blaze-orange barrels, cones, flashing arrows and threatening signs (Constructione zone: slow down -- or we'll fine you $4,356.87).

They've been working on 12th Street this week. They were setting up at 12th and Sassafras when I came into work at 7:30 a.m. Yeah, that's right, they were SETTING UP at 7:30 a.m. -- just in time to piss off all the morning commuters trying to make it to work by 8 a.m.

How many of you were late this week?

The construction bottleneck just adds to the annoyance already caused by lights at every intersection on 12th Street.

As I was waiting at the 17 red lights and construction bottleneck on my way to work this morning, I remembered that when I was child, I actually used to dream about one day driving to work on 12th Street (because it was the biggest street in the big city...hey, everything is big when you're 10). I envisioned myself as an important businesswoman in an expensive suit and a great car, zooming up 12th street to my plush corner office where I'd drink coffee and have important meetings.

Most of my childhood aspirations came from watching "Who's the Boss?" (I wanted to be like Angela -- the ad exec. who drove a Jag) and my own mother (who always looked so pretty when she dressed up for work).

24 years later, I am indeed driving 12th Street to work and drinking coffee, but I'm not wearing an expensive suit. I'm not an important businesswoman and I drive an old GMC Jimmy filled with carseats and cheerios. My "office" can hardly be called plush (nor is it technically an office) -- though I do face a corner... cement block with no windows, but a corner nonethless.

Not what I had envisioned when I was 10, but exactly where I belong at 34. I'm happy with my life, my choices, my job, my car, my wardrobe and my cement block wall.

If only I could do something about that 12th Street commute.