So this morning the alarm woke me up from an awful dream. It’s one I’ve had before, but this time around it was much weirder and more detailed. Seriously, I drove my Dad’s 1978 Cordoba off the road whilst driving through a being-built suburban housing development with my Dad and my Grandma somewhere in the American southwest because…?

Anyway, I woke up mad. Really pissy. Oh yay. (There was an incident in the dream with the house builders…) And my back still hurt. And my lips and tongue had that icky dried-out feeling from sleeping with my mouth open.

Then after breakfast I walked back into the kitchen to discover a lake of coffee grounds and water all over the counter. I’d turned on the coffeemaker without putting the carafe back under it. Go me. Such are my energy levels that the effort of wiping up the mess, rinsing out the coffeemaker, grinding more beans, and filling the coffeemaker up with water wore me out. And it wasn’t even 8am yet!

Then, thanks to my intermittent sense of smell currently, Anatole took a giant dump, and apparently got a hold of some industrial-sized fans, because the smell wafted through the entire apartment before I noticed it and did some scooping. So glamorous…

(As a testament to the fact that THERE SHOULD NOT BE HOCKEY IN JUNE I found that I didn’t even care when I checked to confirm that Anaheim had, indeed, won the Stanley Cup the preceding evening. Sick Melle goes to bed after the second period, you see.)

And then I drove to work and found out that a whole buncha stuff had gone on yesterday while I was home sick. Oh, and we have four uber-emergencies that require your immediate attention. Right. Seriously, people, not even this managed to cheer me up.

Ahh well, I have a hair appointment after work AND IT HAD BETTER GO WELL.

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