Blahsday

You wake minutes before the alarm sounds and remember there’s no coffee.

You pry yourself loose from your pillow, fumble the alarm off, and sit up. And think, “What in *&%!  am I doing?!”

You know before you even look no two socks will match, or that last pair of hose has runs. The dog has chewed the toaster cord in two and the cat’s litter box is a disaster. You have a funny taste in your mouth, and you’re in a lousy mood.

It’s going to be one of Those Days.

(Note: the following unsolicited advice is not from a counselor, expert, or professional anyperson. If you have one of Those Days frequently, please do get some trained help.) 

My advice?

Go back to bed. If you can manage it (or afford it), call in, but don’t go to work. Or class. Or succumb to your Shoulds, Oughts, and Gotta Do lists. Give yourself permission to do nothing. Better yet, feel sorry for yourself. (Nobody else will. Or if they do, they won’t do as good a job.)

Set the alarm again for fifteen minutes, and spend that time bemoaning your fate. Imagine your funeral, if you want. Picture everyone’s amazement when it’s finally revealed: you were actually the Top Operative in the international anti-terrorist Super-Secret League, but no one knew. Or you lived modestly, but had a priceless Picasso that he’d autographed specifically for you. Or your photo, displayed in a Parisian photographer’s window, drove the opposite sex to despair because you could only marry one of them.

It’s your fantasy, after all. Conquer the world. Conquer the universe, and subjugate the aliens instead of vice versa.

Then turn off the alarm again and go back to sleep. The world will continue turning. 

And you’ll feel better tomorrow. It won’t be Blahsday any more.