Bad day. It started out bad. I could not wake up this morning, despite an infusion of Diet Mountain Dew and some dark chocolate M&Ms. Mondays are usually slow in the medical office where I work. It wasn't slow. The phone. Add-on surgeries. The phone again. Faxes. More add-on surgeries. Phone. Phone. Phone. Missing equipment. Phone. Surgeries. Phone. Phone. Friggin' phone.
Bad news. About 10 a.m., I received an e-mail saying that I had to pay nearly $400 in taxes. By next Tuesday. I wanted to put a bullet in my temple by this time. On top of the phone and the surgeries and the phone and the missing equipment and the phones, I had to figure out where I'm going to find $400. I checked all my orifices and came up empty-handed.
Bad mood. I'm in a terrible mood. I've been in a terrible mood since about, oh, 10 a.m. That's over twelve hours of bad mood. I still have not arrived at any four-hundred-dollar plan. Can't sell my blood (diabetes). Can't sell a kidney (no connections). Can't sell a story or poem (not from lack of trying). That leaves me about $395 short.
That's Saint Marty's day in a nutshell. Long on bad. Short on cash.
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