#@!&%~

You know those days where you wake up physically and mentally stressed because a) you have terrible cramps and b) your shitty upstairs neighbor McStompsalot woke you up at 6:30 (only a half-hour before you had to get up, but still) a.m.? And then while you get ready (slowly, now, 'cause you're cracked out from no rest), you drink a punishing cup of coffee, and make a second one to bring to work like you usually do, only the jar that you usually use (Ol' Reliable) is stuck fucking fast shut, so you rifle through the cupboards and come up with a bigger – dare you think, better – jar, and after stabbing yourself in your (bloodshot) left eye with your eyeliner and waiting for the tears to subside, you rip a hole in your sock (keep up: we're rushing, now) on your way to the kitchen, where you don't have time to eat anything except the way overripe half of a banana from yesterday; after you pour some milk into your new Awesome Coffee Jar, your stupid tired-blind hand manages to knock the whole thing right smack over (because it was too tall) as you reach for the honey (which, by the way, is some terribly weak clover business because they were out of the wildflower) and suddenly there it is, the fucking rub: coffee, everywhere: all over your stovetop, dripping down into the burner holes, soaking through your nutmeg holder to the poor meg itself, dripping off of every (more than a dozen) jar of spices you keep on the counter next to the stove, falling in sheets down the side of the refrigerator and soaking into your wooden cutting board, not to mention your potholder. Meanwhile, precious morning beverage is dripping furiously onto the floor and into the silverware drawer. So you look at the clock in terror, and whoops! You're supposed to be at work RIGHT NOW. It only takes you 5 minutes to bike there, but now you've got this fucking monkey wrench. So you chug the last 2 gulps of coffee from the New! Shittiest-Ever Coffee Jar, and grab the sponge (which, thankfully, is nasty anyway).
Takes you five minutes just to clean it all up, and you're almost 15 minutes late to work. The phone is ringing before you've got the last 2 of 3 doors up, and it's your boss. You try and sway her from coming in, but she tells you she's on her way. (At least she doesn't know you were late!) Resigning yourself to a morning of getting absolutely nothing done, you wait despairingly for her to arrive, almost cracking your head open because of a slimy stem on the ground (a banana peel stand-in – thanks, universe!) and helping customers who offer up kicky comments like, "Wow, these are way too expensive..." (thanks? sorry? fuck off?) and "omg, it must be like, so fun to like, play with flowers all day!?" (yeah, totally! That would be like, so fun.)

And yeah. i'll stop there, because really: this isn't even fun to write down anymore. Suffice it to say that my boss did come in, she did manage to drive me crazy for 5 hours, and the sound of her voice eventually made me want to smother her with a pillow. But really, this is nobody's fault but my own. PMS is a righteous bitch, i'm not afraid to say. And besides, i did get to bring home some amazing tulips, so i guess it's a wash.