An Open Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe:

I am writing to complain about your recent treatment of me. I thought it might be best to list my grievances, and then we can go from there. If I do not hear from you, I will assume that you want our working relationship to be terminated, and I will seek employment elsewhere.

This week (so far) has been nothing like last week. Nothing monumentally bad has happened yet, just a collection of irritating incidents that contribute to the feeling funky.

Mondays are bad enough, right? One would think that Monday was enough hell all on its own, and not have to produce *more* independent verification. I got fussed at by another staff member at work. No surprise there, but it was one of those piddly little things that can discolor your whole day.

Tuesday went fairly well, with the exception of the spiking heat here in the Southeast, which made everyone crabby, and tempers short.

I woke up at 3:17 this morning with a pounding migraine. I took three pills, and headed back to bed. When my alarm went off, I rolled over, and realized that I'd made a colossal mistake. I had to call into work. I could barely see, and from the chorus of tympani drums that was reverberating inside my skull, actual movement and productivity were going to be nil today.

I spent the day in bed, sleeping away the migraine. I awoke in the early afternoon, disoriented by the darkness that shrouded the house. I started to panic at the thought that Offspring was not yet home from school, and it was growing dark -- until I realized that it was raining outside, and the overcast skies made it seem much later than it actually was.

After Offspring and JF arrived home, I figured I had better appease my growling stomach, and make something to eat, since I hadn't eaten anything since about 7pm on Tuesday. I filled up a jig of water for Raspberry Ice koolaid, and as I attempted to put it back into the 'fridge, the wet bottle slipped out of my hands, shattering the plastic refrigerator door bin. Great. Now, I have *two* door bins to buy -- this one, and the one that broke three months back. $66 dollars and one Internet search later, we have new door bins headed our way. Some time within the next 3 to 7 days. Hopefully.

I decide to go rest on the bed and pet the cat while JF kindly does the dishes for me. After about 20 seconds of petting, said cat turns on me like a mob informant, and proceeds to claw and bite the hell out of my arm.

Universe, I would like to have a month where I do not have prime Wednesday Whine fodder. Please give me the time off, or I will be forced to contact my attorney. This could be considered a hostile work environment, and I do not have to tolerate it. I know my rights.

Signed,
A Seriously Funked-Out, Pissed-Off KLee