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I am the world’s most disastrous human. As evidence, I present my left index finger, which I cut really, really badly this week on a weed (yes, a weed, shut up) I picked out of the ground on my walk home. Blast from the past? I think so. I should probably not be allowed in public.

But let me tell you about yesterday. It started with spilling Diet Rockstar on my MacBook Pro in a meeting at 6:30 in the morning. I wasn’t very concerned since it wasn’t much liquid and I caught it immediately to shake the thing out. I mean, maybe there’s nothing like having your digital camera survive a dip in the toilet to make a girl feel invincible, but I really didn’t believe that the subsequent funky behavior by my ‘d’, ‘c’, and ‘z’ keys was any more than some sort of electronic adolescence — inconvenient (and at times, painful) for everyone involved but surely fleeting. Changing directories was obviously annoying, as was copy and paste, as was typing my system password, but I have an extra keyboard at my desk and life is too short to stress about such things.

Anyhow, d/c/z were still not working when I got home, so I whipped out my blow dryer to help speed things along. I picked the ‘cool’ setting for no real reason other than seeming gentler to the equipment, but the five seconds of heat before the cool air kicks in was still enough to turn a good chunk of my keyboard to goo. Who knew those keys were so flimsy? I am not clever enough to describe the tech support hell that ensued with any sort of humor, but it’s important to know that Apple support put me in enough of a state that even the sweet guy at the Apple store who hooked me up with replacement keys didn’t really restore my mood.

I know that most of you probably know that I have approximately one day a month when my hormones dictate that I act completely crazy, and that I traditionally spend this day as far removed from society as possible to minimize the havok that a uterus can wreak on one’s life. Taking inspiration from this tradition, I decided to deal with my frustration by doing some laundry, taking a shower, and getting to bed early. Unfortunately, that didn’t really work out.

I got out of the shower just in time to move my laundry to the dryers. I decided that it probably wasn’t appropriate to do this in a towel, though, so I unenthusiastically put on a sports bra top (you know, save a step) and some athletic pants in order to exit my apartment without immediate risk of arrest and also to look as much like a reject from some Richard Simmons video as possible. I know I’m generally way more shallow than this, but it’s not like I was going to run into anybody so I’m allowed to look like trash.

Aside from those two articles of clothing, the only thing I brought out of my apartment with me was my laundry card. Meaning no contacts/glasses, no shoes/socks, no wallet/money, no cell phone, and oh, no keys to get back into my apartment. I knocked on the doors of people in my building who I knew in reverse order of how much I’d hate to wake them up, but I don’t know many people in my building to begin with, and none of them appeared to be home.

The end of this story isn’t very exciting, but suffice it to say that it didn’t come for a very long time. The important part is that eventually I ran into some good samaritans (well, one good samaritan and her grouchy/sleepy bad-cop counterpart) who were able to rescue me from resorting to my contingency plan of sleeping outside my door in a pile of fresh socks/underwear/linens until the main office opened or somebody called the police to report a crazy homeless aerobics enthusiast in the unit. So I guess in the end, things could have been worse.

Now it’s the weekend and I’m not where I might be (a whole other disappointment) but I don’t have a lot of control over that, so I’m going to try to make the most of things, starting with a gloriously long nap.

As for you, ‘z’, ‘d’, and ‘c’, I love you very much and am sorry for taking you for granted. Please come home to me. Don’t give up. There’s a whole big world out there, and this is not your time.