The easy days try to outweigh the hard days. But some days they just can’t.
These are the days when you want to drop everything and walk home early, thinking deeply about whatever is troubling you and perhaps for some solution, or to wallow in a lack of solutions.
These are the days when all you need to fix it would be a nice warm coffee, but the moment it touches your lips you receive a high degree of burn damage, dropping the coffee all over yourself in shock and staining your favourite white work blouse with ungainly streaks of brown. Oh, and that burning all over your torso. That is also quite inconvenient.
You have to drive yourself to the hospital because you live alone and no-one loves you (sorry) and wait in the waiting room for several hours rubbing toothpaste into your belly to soothe the pain. When the doctor does finally call you in you are told that your case is not covered by your medical insurance, and so she turns you away, still indignantly rubbing toothpaste over yourself and desperately wishing you still had feeling in your tongue.
By the time you get home your headache has intensified and you delicately test what is left of the coffee you had hastily abandoned. It’s gone cold and bitter because you find yourself simultaneously out of milk and sugar.
Briefly wondering how this day could possibly get any worse, you walk in to the kitchen and see that your cat has had a nasty case of diarrhea, as well as profuse vomiting over your grandmother’s favourite pillowcase, knitted by your great-great grandmother during the great war that your grand-uncle died in. Grimacing, you look around for the poop-scoop but to no avail. Gagging in distaste, you use a dangerously small piece of plastic clingfilm to throw the pillow into the washing machine, and the cat shit into the bin, which is mostly full. You try not to notice how horrifically warm all of these things are, and fail miserably.
Sighing, you plop yourself in front of the television- yes, the new episode of Sherlock shall cheer you up, if nothing else can!
They announce an emergency haitus, this one lasting for up to 12 years. About ten minutes later, you despondently switch to the news- a big mistake. Benedict Cumberbatch has been involved in a terrible accident, and has not only been horrifically disfigured, but has woken up in the hospital not realising what on earth he is- he believes himself to be an owl, but one cannot believe a word he hoots.
You cry out in anguish as it is reported that Martin Freeman was in the same car, and he thinks he is a duck now. The scene changes to an exchange between the two avian actors- Benedict hooting indignantly as Martin Quacks a question at an interviewer.
When an advert for a couple in up-town Liverpool who have found themselves in negative equity comes on, you switch off the television and fall asleep. After all, today couldn’t possibly get much worse by sleeping, could it?