Sorry for the gross title. That’s the kind of mood I’m in today, but I promise this won’t be a whining post. It’s been one of those weeks where I start off with good intention and a brilliantly thought-out to-do list that, if followed properly, would have resulted in all my homework done, my story out the door, and the house being spotless. You can guess what happened next.
Virtually every single day had an atomic-sized disaster in the middle of it that necessitated all plans being dropped immediately and emergency positions taken (why do so many of my emergency posistions require me to be on the telephone or in the car, also on the telephone?).
Things seemed to be settled down now, mostly, but I am behind on all kinds of work and I was trying to get all of it done last week so the week ahead, which has long loomed in red letters on the calendar as THE WEEK FROM HELL would not have to be so bad.
So, in short, I am screwed. But since I am am on all kinds of cold meds to combat the summer-cold-which-is-also-from-hell-possibly-sent-ahead-as-a-herald-sort-of-like-the-silver-surfer that arrived on Thursday, I don’t even care.
I have spared you all the story of the snot and glitter disaster that necessitated the shaving of all my facial hair. You’re welcome.