Maybe I should’ve recognized burning my forearm on the oven last night as the bad omen that it was and stayed in bed all day today. But no. I woke up this morning to my first (of many to come, I know) rejection letter to a book proposal. Less than 15 hours after I submitted the proposal. At least they didn’t keep me hanging.
Then I walked to the gym so I could get my endorphins going and start the day fresh. On the way there, I noticed a parking ticket on my car’s window shield for having my back bumper in the “red zone” of a curb. Fine? $35.
Upon receiving my paycheck at work, I realized it was 2 days short, and that yesterday’s hours weren’t registered on my e-time card. And the one-woman HR department quit today. Who’s gonna give me my cash? I still have to figure that one out.
Returning home, ready for some food and a movie with the fiancé, I get a letter from a local university to which I applied for a 2nd bachelor’s degree. They’re not accepting 2nd bachelor’s degree applicants this year, as there are too many darn people in Southern California and their budget is too tight. Make do with the useless liberal arts degree you have. Try again next year. We’ll refund your application fee.
Ok, so that last one wasn’t too bad of a blow. I applied as a back up plan to a program I’m not sure I even want to attend. And now I can’t, so that decision’s been made for me.
Finally, I figured I’d see how the giant blister on my forearm was coming along and put a new Band-Aid on it. I pulled out the box of 10 extra large bandages coachancé bought me yesterday. It looked sparse; there were only 7 Band-Aids inside.
And with that, I’ve learned my lesson: If I burn my forearm on an oven, then I should not bother to wake up the next day. Or check my email. I should live a day in total meditation. And maybe buy some concrete-colored paint.
Going to bed at 6:30pm,
TriDiva
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