That was my day folks. Literally, figuratively, metamorphically, freaking emotionally, laboriously, monotonously, repetitively, annoyingly, endlessly.
You know those days...we all have them, when it very quickly becomes obvious that the universe has it in for you.
I reckon all the globe's inhabitants take up a spot on a giant roulette wheel.
And there is some sadistic mo-fo somewhere out there who takes great delight in not only spinning that wheel, cos frankly that would be enough fun for me; but wreaking all kinds of shitful havoc on the poor unfortunate who belongs to the face that happens to be blipped up immediately below the flicker thing. Sorry I am not up with the roulette technical terms, alright?
Tick, tick, tick. BOOM.
So, work sucked. Plans didn't pan out. Items on lists were not crossed off. Phone messages were not returned. Emails piled up. Random, completely unnecessary phone calls wasted my time. Lunch happened to be ordinary. My ass felt particularly large and bootylicious, but most certainly NOT in a Beyonce way, in a pair of black pants that normally cut quite a dashing gib. My container of almonds ran out. I put too much milk in my tea. I forgot my notebook. Left it at home. Mightn't sound like a disaster to you, but when you are a journo working for a company that rations its stationery as if it's the Great Paper Strike of 1931, it is a quite large problem.
Was there a paper strike in 1931? I don't freaking know. The Great Depression was on, life was hell pretty much everywhere. Surely paper would have taken a hit? Maybe I am thinking shortage, not strike. But both are possible, that's all I'm saying, and therefore if you needed to get your hands on a notebook and you happened to be alive in the year 1931: it would have been almost impossible.
And to top it all off? I went on a two-hour tour of a sewage treatment plant. Is it sewage or sewerage? I really cannot be assed Googling it, as I am sure there is a correct usage rule there somewhere. So get your freaking shitty lawyers and freaking sue me.
A sewage plant tour. I voluntarily offered myself up to be escorted around an outdoor collection of concrete tanks filled to the brim with...shit.
Oh, and did I mention the IVF doc's office rang to tell me I needed, wait for it, another blood test.
At this rate I will be a shoe-in for Human Pincushion Society president - or at least life member.
So I go in again this Thursday - my cycle is clearly stuck in molasses.
That will be my third blood test in seven days.
And, alright, I hear you: it's not the end of the world. At a wild guess, there would most likely be millions of people on the planet right now who are worse off than me.
I get that. And I get that we all have bad days.
But - you knew a but was coming right? - that was about the worst news I could hear on a day like today.