It's official. The universe hates me.
I have a pain in my back that feels like gas pain but isn't alleviated by using the restroom.
I am in the midst of the heaviest part of my period. This is making me extraordinarily cold, thirsty, tired, and highly sensitive to emotions, in addition to the usual hunched over "I'm suffering from the cramps of doom" position.
I am worried about my job next year.
I have too much work to get done for tomorrow and am unlikely to sleep tonight.
I am really, really worried about my job next year.
I am worried about my alma mater.
I have to remember to call the good folks at Perkins because so help me, I cannot log into the website despite the most earnest of efforts. I am worried that I'm going to forget to call them during their operating hours and the payment due-date will pass before I realize it (it's the 27th, I think).
I am pissed that Facebook doesn't work on my computer, regardless of the browser I'm using, which means it's either something wrong with my computer or some strange setting that I'll never in a million years find buried in the allowable and not-allowable settings in my virus protection software. I just want things to work when they're supposed to work. Is that really too much to ask?
And all of this would have been manageable -- or almost manageable -- if I hadn't been brought to tears just now by my stupid glasses. The screw that holds the arm onto the part that holds the glass popped out, and I just spent the past TWO SOLID HOURS trying to screw it back into place. The screw is, literally, somewhere between a sixteenth and an eighth of an inch in length and ultimately I gave up and just wrapped packing tape around the side of my glasses and figure, hey -- at least it ain't electrical tape across the bridge.
Seriously. YOU try using the fattest fingers in the universe to do fine detail work and, oh by the way, YOU CAN'T SEE A FUCKING THING WHILE YOU'RE DOING IT.
It's only by the grace of God's amusement that the screw didn't fall down the drain or into the oblivions of cracks and crevices everywhere the million and a half times it popped off the tweezers or rolled off the screwdriver.
Being unable to complete this simplest of tasks is, I think, really what's pissing me off right now.
Well, that, and also every time I finally convince myself to quit thinking about the shit that's making me sick with worry, something happens to make me remember it.
Oh, nice. Now my back is suddenly itching in every place I can't reach. Thank you. Thank you so much.
Now if you'll excuse me, dear universe, I'm going to go try and remain composed while I try to do math in a haze of sleepless befuddlement. Feel free to divert your mischievous temperaments elsewhere. My students laughed when I gave them chocolate today to ward off the evils of Tuesday the 13th, but I wasn't kidding. Only Friday the 13ths are lucky; it's the other ones that are evil.
(Although, dear universe, it's been the 14th for five minutes now. Seriously. Lay off the annoyances.)
I am in the midst of the heaviest part of my period. This is making me extraordinarily cold, thirsty, tired, and highly sensitive to emotions, in addition to the usual hunched over "I'm suffering from the cramps of doom" position.
I am worried about my job next year.
I have too much work to get done for tomorrow and am unlikely to sleep tonight.
I am really, really worried about my job next year.
I am worried about my alma mater.
I have to remember to call the good folks at Perkins because so help me, I cannot log into the website despite the most earnest of efforts. I am worried that I'm going to forget to call them during their operating hours and the payment due-date will pass before I realize it (it's the 27th, I think).
I am pissed that Facebook doesn't work on my computer, regardless of the browser I'm using, which means it's either something wrong with my computer or some strange setting that I'll never in a million years find buried in the allowable and not-allowable settings in my virus protection software. I just want things to work when they're supposed to work. Is that really too much to ask?
And all of this would have been manageable -- or almost manageable -- if I hadn't been brought to tears just now by my stupid glasses. The screw that holds the arm onto the part that holds the glass popped out, and I just spent the past TWO SOLID HOURS trying to screw it back into place. The screw is, literally, somewhere between a sixteenth and an eighth of an inch in length and ultimately I gave up and just wrapped packing tape around the side of my glasses and figure, hey -- at least it ain't electrical tape across the bridge.
Seriously. YOU try using the fattest fingers in the universe to do fine detail work and, oh by the way, YOU CAN'T SEE A FUCKING THING WHILE YOU'RE DOING IT.
It's only by the grace of God's amusement that the screw didn't fall down the drain or into the oblivions of cracks and crevices everywhere the million and a half times it popped off the tweezers or rolled off the screwdriver.
Being unable to complete this simplest of tasks is, I think, really what's pissing me off right now.
Well, that, and also every time I finally convince myself to quit thinking about the shit that's making me sick with worry, something happens to make me remember it.
Oh, nice. Now my back is suddenly itching in every place I can't reach. Thank you. Thank you so much.
Now if you'll excuse me, dear universe, I'm going to go try and remain composed while I try to do math in a haze of sleepless befuddlement. Feel free to divert your mischievous temperaments elsewhere. My students laughed when I gave them chocolate today to ward off the evils of Tuesday the 13th, but I wasn't kidding. Only Friday the 13ths are lucky; it's the other ones that are evil.
(Although, dear universe, it's been the 14th for five minutes now. Seriously. Lay off the annoyances.)