Bad Medicine

Or maybe I was born under a bad moon? I don't know. But I have had a shitacular last few days.

The highlights: I apparently don't know my own hulk-like strength and broke my curling iron.
Then I made it all the way to work without realizing I had a huge coffee(?) stain on my white shirt. Right in the middle of my boobs.

And I dented M's car.

Ok, well. That's the big one.

Yesterday involved frustration, disappointment, worry, and anger, culminating in physical violence against inanimate objects, property damage, five minutes of non-stop projectile swearing (not the longest I've ever gone, but probably a personal best as far as style goes), followed by an hour of hysterical crying and then five hours of drunk quiet contemplation.

What sucks even worse is that I ended up with an upset stomach at 3:00 am, cotton mouth and baggy eyes on a morning I had to work, the car is still dented, and half the Amaretto I made for Christmas gifting is gone.