My rotten, horrible, no-good, vomit-inducing, ham salad on my foot, very bad day

See the wringer on that old-fashioned washing machine? Well, I have been run through it today. Twice. From the way my neck feels, maybe three times.

There are just days like this one, although mine officially started yesterday. I went to Mass in the morning with Allison because she played the piano at church and so I was confused all day -- Labor Day -- because I'd been to church and I was convinced it was Sunday.

Then yesterday, my befuddlement got worse and ended up with me splashing my new top with melted butter in a colossally uncoordinated movement that I'm not sure could be replicated even by using stop-motion claymation. I also broke one of my favorite bowls into the kind of tiny, sand-particle sized pieces that even smithereens envy. I'm simply passing over the brown rice I spilled all over the kitchen counter because the five-second rule was in force in the kitchen and I swept it all into the slow-cooker before it had time to pick up any germ lingering around.

But today? Bad. EPIC badness. First of all, I was purely convinced it was Monday, and therefore completely forgot to take Aisling to her piano lesson. Well, she forgot too, but that still doesn't make up for the fact that the piano teacher? We're going to have to pay her that money anyway.

About the time I realized about the piano lesson was when I was on my way home from the grocery. I'd purchased some ham salad to serve for dinner tonight -- I always doctor it up with extra hard-cooked eggs and chopped green onion and celery and some shredded cheddar and a hit of Hellmann's. As I was thinking "OH MY GOSH, I FORGOT TO TAKE AISLING TO PIAAAANOOOOOOOO!!!" I felt a squooshing sort of feeling as the grocery bag, which THANKFULLY was on the floor of the car and not in the back seat where I wouldn't have seen it or felt it until it was too late.

What I felt was ham salad, pouring stickily out of the deli container onto my sandal'd foot. I let out a shriek that stirred the dead in cemeteries all over central Indiana ("Was that a trumpet I heard just then?") and looked down to see ham salad stuck to my skin, where it was doing a really, really good impression of a foot that had dinner-plus-five-Berrylicious wine coolers yakked up on it. Which almost DID make me yak, but all I'd had was a piece of toast and a cup of coffee. There was a lot of unpleasant cleaning up to do and I did it with a noticeable lack of good cheer.

And then, there's just been a lot of other sucky stuff that's happened. The kind of sucky stuff that, if just one sucky thing happened all on its own, you could kind of shrug it off and laugh a noir little laugh. But by the time six or seven of those sucky things pile up, you just want to go hide in a closet and hum for a while. Or cry. Or call your mother, which I did. And since she's so funny, she made me laugh instead of crying.

But now, it is bedtime. And I don't mind telling you all that I just took two Benadryl because of my itchy eyes and my itchy throat and my incessant sneezing, but also because I know those Benadryl will give me a good night's sleep, something I could sorely use right about now.