The day from hell has many hours left.

Last night sucked.  I had nightmares, bad ones, and interspersed with the nightmares, I had a cat who vomited all night long.  Lovely, no?  I realize now that I should have embraced those moments as being wonderful instead of  feeling all sorry for myself, but did I?  Oh, noooooo.  I decided to call it done around 8am, stumbled to get together a cup of instant coffee and slipped in some vomit I missed.  Down I went, taking out an already-troublesome knee and covered in what was, at one point, last night's Fancy Feast.  I'm fairly certain I said "motherfucker" a few times, in case anyone wonders.  I'm not one to give in to adversity, though, so I crawl up, and still determined that caffeine will help, I make my coffee and gimp off to my recliner. As I sat there, drinking coffee and whining to Miss Arse, I realize I feel very wet.  My immediate thought was, "Dear God, did I just lose control of my bladder and didn't even know it?" because, if I'm honest, that's just one of those burdens I expect God to give me to bear one of these days. I jump and feel around, realizing that cat vomit wasn't the worst of my worries...one of my precious little spawns of the devil had peed in my recliner.  But, oh, the worse things get, the more I am determined to find it all funny and strap my chipper mood on.  So, I gather up the quilt I always have it covered with and take to the leather with Lysol.  At this point, I relax because really, that's enough for anyone to have happen in one morning.  Jake gets up, we get dressed quickly since he got called to work on very short notice and I figure I'll shower when I get back in about 15 minutes, we go out to the car and guess what, chicken butt?  My car is dead.  Thankfully, I'm fairly car-savvy and know immediately it's the battery, but why?  Nothing was left on and the battery is less than 2 years old.  But, this will not break me.  I will just take that battery out, bum a ride from a neighbor to the autoparts store and get a new one.  This?  Is not awful, I figure...it could be worse, anyway.  I go to get my tools and oh, please, guess what happened!  Please!  If you guessed that someone had been in my utility room and stole my tool box, a grinder and my Dent King thingie, you'd win the prize.  I debated about calling the cops but really, why?  I'll never see that stuff again.  But now, here I am with no tools and a battery that needs to be taken out.  Ever resourceful, I flagged down a man who lives around the corner and who happened to be driving past...I don't know him, but I figured we'd be friends after this.  He was nice enough to come back and even remove the battery.  Ahhh, a sign the day is going better.  I got another neighbor to take me to the auto parts store where they determined that yup, the battery is dead.  The good news is, they can recharge it and it'll be fine.  I admit, I wasn't too thrilled with this idea but it was free and they were convinced it would be fine, so I went with it.  As I was leaving, a nice older man told me to bring the car in once I get it installed and they'll test it with the car running to make sure it's okay.  Will do.  Get it in,  return the new neighbor-friend's tools he lent me and go have my car checked, where they promptly tell me the battery is reading bad.   Whatfuckever, at this point.  I buy a new battery and listen to them tell me what I need to relay to a repair shop as far as electrical drains and I leave, taking Jake to work.  On the way home I stop in Winn Dixie figuring I'd test things by shutting the car off and if it was dead, I was in a safe, easy spot close to home for Miss Arse to come get me.  I carefully found a parking space where I could pull all the way through in case I needed to be towed out or something, expecting the worst.  I buy my chicken and some more Lysol, get back in the car, hold my breath and turn the key.  It starts!!  Finally, *finally, something went right!  I just wanted to cry with relief.   As I sat there basking in the glow of a working battery, I am suddenly shot forward out of my parking space by about a foot.  I knew.  I just knew that particular feeling and as I looked back, sure enough, some old guy had pulled in behind me and lost control, back-ending me in a freaking parking space.  Ugh.  I get out, he's about to cry, I'm about to cry, we do the whole exchange information thing and I reassure him I am not going to sue him as long as his insurance covers the (amazingly minor) damage.  I tell myself I made my second new friend of the day because I'm all about positive spins and bluebirds of happiness, dontcha know.  Me, my bad knee, my car, my crooked bumper, my new battery and my chicken make it home and all I can think of is a hot shower and food.  I'm stripping clothes off as I walk to my bathroom, climb in the shower and oooh, what do we have here?  No water?  NO FUCKING WATER?  Oh, hell,  no.  No, no and no.  I call the water company and they tell me I was notified several days ago that they'd have my water off all this afternoon to repair some pipes.  Bullshit, I was notified.  I was not.  I argue with the woman and she argues back.  Then she clearly informs me that I did have a hang tag put on my front door.  I did?  On my front door, the one I never, ever use and that probably hasn't been opened in 3 months?   Why, yes indeedy, there's that tag on my front door knob, tucked safely behind my storm door so that no human being could possibly see it from the yard or anything.  *eyeroll*

So, here I sit.  Filthy from cat vomit and urine, knee all swelled up, starving but not wanting to get around food until I've showered, exhausted, dreading dealing with an insurance company over bumper repairs that I just know I won't be happy with,  dreading dealing with a repair shop about the electrical problem, worn out and I'll be damned, this day isn't over yet.  But, I did get a rotisserie chicken for $2.99 and that was a good thing.  See?  I'm just a little ray of hopeful fucking sunshine, I am.