People proclaim they're having "one of those days" too quickly. I'll go to work and someone will say: "I'm just having the worst day." and I'm like: "It's only 8:45. You're giving up kind of early aren't you?" I always feel like saying: "You woke up at 6:30, what horror could possibly have befallen you in 2 hours and 15 minutes that left you totally devoid of hope for the rest of your waking hours? Has there been a death? Were you involved in a freak toaster accident that claimed your thumb? I mean it couldn't have been all bad: You're here so you didn't get a contagious disease along the way. Your clothes are in tact so you probably didn't get mauled by a wild animal in the company parking lot. So why are you wasting my time being melodramatic over some stupid crap like your hair wasn't behaving (clearly), the shirt you wanted to wear was in the laundry and the new shirt you put on, you spilled coffee on? (I'm just assuming that shirt you're wearing had to be a last resort.) So what? Haven't you ever heard of making lemons into lemonade or urine into urinate or whatever the hell the Pollyanna expression is?"
You want to hear about 'one of those days'? I'll give you "one of those days". I got up, got ready and left for work. I got a few miles from my house when I realized that I was pretty low on gas. I calculated that I could probably make it to work on the remaining gas, but since I was approaching a gas station that's usually one of the cheaper ones and I was a little early that day... Unfortunately, however, not early enough to go back home and get my wallet which was inside my pocketbook which I apparently left on the couch because it wasn't sitting next to me, riding shotgun as it usually does.
Assuming I'd calculated my gasoline reserve correctly, I then focused on the fact that my chances of getting shot before I got to work were pretty good, seeing as I drive pretty fast and the windows don't open in my car. So if a cop happened to decide to pull me over I would likely be shot or at least dragged out of the car and thrown to the ground for disobeying orders since I had no driver's license to hold up to the window and couldn't roll down the window to tell him or her why. The second I opened my door to explain, they would assume I was making a run for it (I watch Cops) and have to take me down.
I rolled into work uneventfully unless you count the laser light show going on on my dashboard. I was probably about 8 minutes away from having to put it in neutral and using all of my 125 pound bulk to push it off the exit. I spent the first half hour of my workday strolling around the office among my esteemed coworkers with a cardboard sign that read: "Need gas money to get home. Anything will help. Gd bless you." (I was going to write: "Will work for gas money" but these people work with me and know I won't work for anything and I needed my plea to be convincing.) It was the day before payday and a sad scene it was. It took six of us to amass the 4 dollar booty I left with. (My contribution was my hairy, sticky, cup holder stash). The irony of it was, this was the first payday eve day in months when I actually had the money for gas but of course it didn't matter because I happened not to be sitting on my couch where it currently was located.
After positive-thinking my way to the gas station on the way home, I got on the highway. A female passenger was yelling at me. Since I have a window that doesn't open and love watching sports on TV, I've become somewhat of a proficient lip-reader. "Oh, geez... She did not just say 'you left your gas cap open'?" So I pulled over to the shoulder and exited the car in oncoming traffic. (Normally I would get out the passenger side but it had been the type of day that I was willing to risk it.)
I only had a half-day at work and was supposed to have a rare lunch date with my husband but he got stuck on an appointment so I was on my own. I decided to go for a run. There are no sidewalks close to my house so I sometimes run in a development nearby. My husband had given me a little mister (wow, does that look wrong when you type it).. A little spritzer bottle... for when I run in this sweltering heat. So after doing my run, I thought I would treat myself to the spritz on the cool down as I walked home, except a piece of the spritzer bottle was gone. I either had lost it in the house before I left or along the run. I walked home and it was nowhere to be found. So I walked back... about a mile in the sweltering afternoon heat... and retraced my two mile route... and yes, I found it.
Now that my wallet and I had been reunited in my living room, I decided to get back in my hot car (no functioning windows or air conditioning) and get a respectable amount of gas. While I was pumping gas, I mindlessly went to scratch my neck. My hand slid on either my sweat or the spritzer water and I accidentally scratched a pimple. So there I stood, at the gas station, pumping gas to wind up this glorious day, trying to ignore the fact that I was bleeding profusely.
And that ladies and gentlemen is how you turn lemons into lemonade. Or urine into urinate... Whatever the hell the expression is.
(If you're interested: Please take a look at my eBook to the right about my infertility journey when you get a sec.)