F*ck (and other blue words out of my mouth today)

Generally, I am enjoying going to work everyday. The closet still remains a heady challenge, as does the footwear, but I digress. It's nice to have a challenge that involves more than the day's menu.

Today, however, was not a good day. I woke up late, in full throes of lady-day angst with gut-wrenching cramps. I shoehorned my bloated thighs into the most tent-like dress slacks I own and shuffled downstairs. (expletives 1-7)

Roommate was irritated with my sloth, as he was doing me a favor by first taking my Heidi to his mechanic friend's garage to see about replacing the broken cup-holder he'd inadvertently snapped to bits while flailing his hands in anger at the stupid motorcyclist who'd just cut him off (and nearly died for the stupidity of crossing in front of a fast-moving Jetta) last summer, and for then ferrying me to the nearest public transit station. I appreciate the favors, but the favor train runs both ways. He's no princess when HE wakes up late, cranky, ill, and I'm the one hauling his rheumy visage off to the light rail. Feh, I say. (cuss the eighth)

I left the house without my jacket. Ooops. Dammit. (profanity #9)

The walk to work was uneventful, which is how I prefer them. Unfortunately, once at work, I realized I'd missed a phone appointment from last Friday afternoon. (10), and none of the people who need to send me materials for an upcoming conference have done so (11-13).

The kicker, however, occurred as I tried to set right the MS Office installation on my machine. It's not all there, one of the modules didn't properly install. I tried to right that wrong. Instead, I wronged that wrong. (13-74) Utilizing the mishmash of application discs, I managed to install the previous distribution of the software, and watch all my documents level down.(75-83) Then I removed the old version. And then nothing was recognizable. (84-135)

Reader, I cried. Fat, salty tears slid down my cheeks and plopped off the end of my blubbering chin. I'm working for a non-profit. Shoe-string margins! They can't afford my incompentence! Nor can they afford to pay for the reduced productivity as I had to hand-link each and every document to Excel or Word when I wanted to use it. Oh it was terrible, explaining to my boss why a simple announcement took 6 hours to produce. Truly, I felt ashamed. I did feel valient for not pitching the CPU from the 10th floor, but only because the 4 flights up would have been tiresome. Also, I have the only fast computer in the whole outfit.

Finally, an extremely distant ex-bf explained that XP allows system rollbacks to correct cock ups such as this. I took a brief journey by time machine to yesterday afternoon and restored the settings belonging to a lazy Sunday.

I dried my tears, finished the memo, and headed home in the dark breeze, regretting the jacket at home. (136)

This is not to say nice things did not happen today. The sun shone. The last man onto the train traded S.R.O. spots with me, so that I could cling to a handrail bar befitting my height. Roommate picked me up from the Skankville Station, and bought a yuppie foodstamp's worth of groceries at the Joe.

Alas, it still took me an hour+ to engineer one simple pizza. And yes, I grazed the metal rack with my forearm as I was trying to discern whether the oven was 500 or 600 degrees (it was 500). (137) And yes, it still really, friggin hurts. (138)

Also, I have no clean slacks to wear to work tomorrow.
F8ck.