You know, the kind of day where a dog throws up on the carpet and you spill your coffee on your new shirt and to top it all off, you give yourself a black eye from literally tripping and falling into a trash can?
Yes, that actually happened.
I fell into a friggen trash can.
Like with my head and upper body entirely inside of it. And it hurt. Like heck.
To be honest, it was a green waste can, but that’s only slightly better.
OK, maybe it’s a lot better. It was just dried leaves and twigs that got stuck in my hair and eyeballs rather than actual garbage, but it was still awfully unpleasant and humbling.
To be fair, the can does have a warning on the lid that specifically says not to pull or move it with the lid open. But, that’s the kind of cautionary labeling I normally make fun of~ like the infopic with the toddlers head stuck in a bucket, or the warning not to iron on a transfer while wearing the shirt.
Are we really such a mass collection of morons that we need all these warnings?
Well, apparently this one was there for a reason.
It seems it's not just other senseless fools, but me, myself and I that's the reason they need to put the warnings on products. But, unlike some people, I’m only going to laugh at myself about it, and not file a lawsuit because i was dumb enough to fall in a trash can~ because it’s my own ridiculous fault.
Anyhoo, I was simply trying to clean up some piles of leaves and debris around the yard. It was hot and I wasn’t in the best mood and it seemed unnecessary to close the lid to move the cart 5 feet.
But, when I rolled the can forward, the lid leaned back towards me creating a V shaped tripping hazard, which I neglected to see and promptly stuck my foot in, tumbled over, flipping the can on it’s side and toppling me head first into it.
Did I mention my cheekbone slamming into the top edge and my glasses flying off my head?
It was probably hilarious to witness, but I was living it, which is generally significantly less funny.
I found myself on the ground literally with my head and upper body inside the can~ like a cozy little nest of nature, except it wasn’t cozy at all, it was painful and disorienting.
Apparently, I also slammed my bicep into the can as well because I wound up with a big unsightly bruise, and since it’s too hot to wear long sleeves, I’ve been asked about it by approximately 12 million people in the last week.
And I really need a better story than “I fell in a trash can.”
That’s just plain embarrassing.
Anyway, the bad day mojo continued and leaked into some other days culminating on the morning that I was trying to get my booty dressed, ready and out of the house at an hour that is much earlier than I normally choose to make public appearances. (Don’t judge~ some people are night owls…)
This particular day, I am intentionally trying not to rush around like a chicken without a head because I’m going to be spending the day at a workshop full of smart and successful business women, and I don’t want to be that lady who runs in last minute with crumbs on her face, coffee on her shirt and crazy hair.
No, I’m moving along as calm & steady as I can when I realize that a little food would be a good plan so that I have more than caffeine in my system. No problem, I’ll just toast a bagel.
So, I toast it, forget about it until it’s cold and toast it again. Paying much more attention so as not to burn it, I re-warm it, only to find we have no butter, no cream cheese, no anything that sounds remotely good on this dry hunk of carbs.
Annoyed as heck that I’m going to be starve, I stomp my way around to finish packing my things for the day. Then at the last minute, I remember there is some butter in the freezer. I try to carve off frozen hunks, but they just lay there on my now cold bagel and refuse to spread, let alone melt. I wrap the unpleasant mess into a napkin and throw it into my purse, and jump in the car, now rushing for time.
Before I even get the car out of the garage, the friggen gas light comes on.
I'm not even kidding.
My eyeballs pretty much popped out of my head and thankfully the neighbors were not home because I literally screamed like a wild banshee or possibly an insane asylum patient~ definitely like a crazy lady anyway, and I did it all the way down the street until I reached the stop sign where I paused for breath.
It was a lovely example of composure and healthy emotional maturity.
Actually my throat hurt and I was exhausted. I wanted to gas up my car and just keep driving away from everything and towards an airport where I could fly away to someplace like Cancun or Australia.
But, then I realized that I'd still be making the house payments on the home I drove away from, and that would be really stupid if I wasn't even enjoying it. Then I remembered that I'd probably want to take the people who live there with me, because I actually do love them, and I also like them after all.
So, I used the pause as a cue to keep breathing. I didn't exactly calm down, but I didn't kill anyone either, so that was good. I got gas, and arrived at my destination. I wasn't too late and the rest of that day got better.
There have been some up days and some down days since then. There have been bickering children and foggy airport detours and more spilled coffee and smoke alarms and exceptionally overcooked and uncomfortably chewy corn on the cob.
But I've been trying to focus on the good stuff.
The bruises have healed (although my ego might be mildly scarred) and I'm moving on.
Since then, I've reminded myself a bazillion times that some days are like that. Even in Cancun or Australia.
Do you have a Bad Day(s) story? If so, please share it in the comments below. Laughter, after all, is the very best medicine, and it's so good to know we're not alone.