The Bloody Doors Off

aka The Universe IS out to get me, and I have proof.

The absolute worst day. Work was fine, I was surpassing expectations. Everything hummed.

It’s when I left. That’s when the shit storm began.

And, fuck, as I try to explain it now, the words are fucking stuck in my head, hiding under a blanket. Like it’s a trauma I’m trying to compartmentalize.

Right. The milk.

I stopped at the corner store to get a jug of milk. You know, the 4L ones that you can only find at Mac’s Milk. They’d just got in a fresh batch and I grabbed one and walked up to the counter and–

–went to put it on the counter–

—and instead it hit the floor and burst open, a white tidal wave against my pants and into my shoes.

I’m running late. Tech support is calling me at 8:30 to work on the timesheet issue (thankfully, now fixed) and I have no time to think of cooking as I’ve gotta take the pants and– shit might as well do a load of laundry– down to the corner and get it running. I’m emailing my timesheets (the other ones I fill out with the Bank) to a third-party at the agency.

I open the package from my accountant. I’d specified at least a half-dozen times that I need to file 2 different tax returns this year, pre and post bankruptcy. Only he’s only done the one. I go back over my sent files. Yup, I didn’t imagine it. So now my taxes are going to be even later, and he can only do the pre-bankruptcy and I have to find a different accountant to do the post-bankruptcy returns.

And regarding all those fucking timesheets? Others in the office who came from different agencies don’t have to go through all that crap. It’s. Just. Me.

So yes, I feel like I’m being fucked with tonight.

And I’m really pissed off about it.