Tuesday, Wednesday stay in bed

Tuesday was one of those days.

To kick it off, I had forgotten to turn on the alarm so I woke up an hour too late, which also meant I didn’t have time to style my hair, which in turn meant I spent the day looking like Edward Scissorhands (or rather, Edward Scissorhands on a bad hairday).

It went downhill from there. Everything that could go wrong did. You know, just barely missing the train, banging your knee on your desk, having the printer refusing to cooperate. Etcetera.

One of those days.

So, getting home that night, I figured I had earned a nice dinner, just to make up for all the bad things that had happened. I prepared a very nice meal and put the potatoes in the oven. Then I brought a glass of red wine (that was how bad my day had been) and sat down on the couch to write.

That’s when the phone rang.

In my surprise, I jumped, sending the wine flying all over my white carpet. It now looks like I’ve performed some sort of peculiar ceremony, involving the ritual decapitation of a goat, right smack in my living room. At least, seeing that, one will hope it was a goat and not a small child.

The phone call was of course one I had dreaded that forced me to put the writing aside and do something I’d been putting off for ever (note to self: never again try to convince elderly ladies that it is fine to send email addresses in emails, because apparently, they know better than that and your empirical data will not make them change their minds). Anyway, once that was out of the way, I went to get my dinner.

That’s when the oven door came apart in my hands.

I’m not kidding. It did. The handle came off and the glass pane fell off and there were screws and thingymahbobs everywhere. I just stood there, like an idiot, resigning myself to the idea that I might have to get a new stove.

And that, my dear friends, is when I gave up. The day was meant to be absolute sh*te. Nothing I could do would ever change that. So I confess I didn’t write that night (which was just as well as the WIP would likely have exploded if I had). I just curled up on the couch and watched Van Helsing and know what? I put it up as research, because if you can’t do that, what’s the point of being a writer? You might as well get a hobby cleaning pipes if you’re not going to let yourself get away with watching Hugh Jackman and calling it work every now and then.

So, how’s your week going?