Can we just call this day a wash and start over?  When you’ve already tangoed with several unhappy parties and had to suck it up and accept the blame and offer the mea copa for mistakes that weren’t even your own, all before you’ve been in to work an hour, then I say it’s time to cancel Thursday, go home and watch Vampire Diaries, and try again tomorrow.  It doesn’t help that your allergies are sapping all the energy from your body (or perhaps your humors are just imbalanced) and the new allergy medication you’re trying after years of using herbal remedies “may cause drowsiness.”  Outlook cloudy; try again later.  It probably doesn’t help that you’re listening to In the Wee Small Hours era Sinatra and developing an exquisite contact melancholy. 

Sing it, Francis.

What’s a girl to do?  Some might say “put on your big girl panties and deal with it,” but K and I hate the word panties and have banned its use from our vocabulary (except for just now—sorry about that).  In such cases, I recommend a big bottle of Kombucha (you thought I was going to say Guinness, didn’t you?  I do recommend that but not when you’re at work, unless you’re an Irish worker digging the Erie Canal during the Industrial Revolution in which case tip a couple back and yes, I have been watching America: the Story of Us.), some deep, cleansing breaths, and a long gander at this:

Why yes, I do have a sock monkey calender.

Feeling better?  You’re welcome.

T

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