A Pox

I’m having one of those days,  the days that I possess the reverse Midas touch. Instead of turning to gold, everything I touch turns to crap.  I’ve fouled a spreadsheet, my mail program, spilled coffee, forgotten to move the laundry from the washer to the drier (so now everything in there smells a little like cheese and needs to be re-washed), exploded a bag of cat food (don’t ask) misplaced an important paper, created a paper disaster while searching for aforementioned paper, received a book I ordered, only to realize it’s not the book I meant to order, found a splash of ink in one of my best knitting bags where a cheap pen has clearly vomited on my yarn and then discovered some evidence of a mouse incursion near my flour bin. 

I got two packages in the mail but they were both for Joe, my blog software crashed and took a great post with it, we’re suddenly and remarkably out of any sort of useful groceries, the battery in my camera is dead and I think I left the charger in Portland, the vacuum cleaner is making an expensive noise, and I think my phlox is dead in the backyard, which is probably related to the clear evidence that one of the soaker hoses out there really hasn’t been soaking anything for some time.  There was a spider the size of a Honda in the bathroom, the living room is a mess, I did the math wrong on a knitting pattern and it turns out I don’t have enough yarn after all, a ball of yarn fell off the winder mid wind and tangled, and I think that I kitchenered the toe of a sock shut this morning with all the skill of a drunken wombat with a crack habit and no knowledge of knitting – which really pisses me off, because you should be able to count on a skill like that, even when you’re having a bit of an off day.

On the upside, I found an rotting and moldy apple core down the side of the couch, which at least explains the reek in the living room that floats over you as pungently as an elderly skunk conference every time you sit down.  (It does not, however, explain why nobody else could smell that we were running an indoor compost program.) 

In short, out an instinct that can only be interpreted as self defense,  I am canceling the rest of Friday.  If you need me, I’ll be in the bath with a beer.  
Peace out.