Thursday is the new Tuesday

About four years ago, a friend and I decided that Tuesday was the most evil day of the week, not Monday as so many cartoon strips on office life seem to claim. Tuesday was always the day that Things seemed to happen or go wrong. Not that we'd realize it was Tuesday and then suddenly everything sucked, more that either one or both of us would have one of Those Days, and in the middle of recounting what had made it one of Those Days, it would dawn on the sufferer that it had also, coincidentally, been a Tuesday. Tuesdays seemed to bring with them things like painfully broken fingernails, parking tickets, stubbed toes that led directly to spilling coffee on brand new light-coloured pants. Tuesdays also involved trying to chat up someone nice, then realizing immediately afterwards that there was a large piece of food lodged between your front teeth, or a blob of barbecue sauce on the end of your nose. All of the ironic stuff that happened to Alanis Morissette in that song, only with less irony and more "oh, I really didn't need THIS today..."

Yesterday felt like a Tuesday.

I woke up feeling completely unrested and headachey, I knew I had a few things to take care of at work that could not be easily passed off to someone else, so I went in and tried to get as much stuff done as possible before my brain completely shut down. At 11am I walked to my car, hoping that the 3 or so hour nap I'd be able to fit in before heading back to pick up Matt (we commuted together this week) would be enough to fix the beginnings of a migraine that were making me feel weak and nauseous. It is a sign of how discombobulated I was that when I started to pull out of my parking spot and felt the steering wheel pull, heard the odd grinding wobbly noise emanating from the front wheel of my car...I kept checking and rechecking my handbrake, making sure it was off, kept thinking "I must have parked with the wheels turned to the side, it's sorting itself out". I was convinced that I'd got a cardboard box jammed up in the wheel well somehow and it was working its way out. Fortunately I was also together enough to get out of my car and look for the source of the oddness as soon as I was clear of the space, because my front driver's side tire was completely flat. So much for a nap.

By 1pm the roadside assistance guy had the spare on (shutup, I know HOW to change a tire, but I've never done it, and the middle of a migraine is not a good time to practice a new skill that involves hoisting a car on a lever). Turns out it was good he was there with his box of tricks, because the little spare was half flat too, and needed a lot of air added. By 2pm I was home, after driving along the 52 with my hazard light flashing, keeping under 50mph and trying not to be too terrified of the idiots who zoomed up behind me and rode my ass for a while before registering the whole FLASHING HAZARD LIGHTS thing, at which point they politely overtook me while giving me the finger. By 3pm I was paying the dealership $47 for fixing the tear in my tire, caused by a small hollow metal spike of unknown origin. I blame Miramar Road.

So the whole adventure was finished just in time for me to turn around and head back along the 52 (this time at full speed) to collect Matt from work. No nap for me.

The day got better after that, I had a bath, ate homemade pizza and went to bed early after sitting on the couch for a while with a very purry Tali. Friendly cats make up for a lot of Tuesdays (and Thursdays).