Last week I had one of those days when the cards are face down against anything good happening.
Oddly enough, this day was Tuesday. My terrible days are usually Mondays, when the behavior of the weekend meets Sunday's schoolwork-induced sleep deprivation and turns into the dreaded two -day hangover. But when I woke up Tuesday, I knew nothing good could come of my being awake.
I went into the bathroom to shave the part of my face that needs it. I say that because only half of my face's follicles have hit puberty and started growing hair. I promptly cut a large chunk out of my upper lip with my Mach 3 Razor.
It's a day-ruining situation to find yourself in, jumping up and down in your underwear, shrieking, on the verge of tears, bleeding from your face. As I slowed the bleeding, I saw that for the rest of the week it would look as if I had herpes on my mouth.
I then realized that Tuesday would be the kind of day where I would have to keep my guard up.
You may well know that cutting yourself with the sleek Mach 3 is about as easy as committing suicide with a bow and arrow. If I had managed to do that, my safety could be endangered by staircases, microwaves, bikes, especially fast motorized wheelchairs, safety scissors, hungry-looking squirrels, plastic bags or overly tight scarves.
I wanted to lie on the couch under a pile of blankets with a cooler of beer and watch \American Gladiators"" until it was safe for me to emerge. I didn't, and things got worse.
I went to a store for a soda and used the ATM. After it had dispensed my cash, I looked down and uttered an audible ""thank you"" to the machine. Not only had my shaving abilities left me, but also my general contact with reality.
That I managed to take my card from the ATM was actually a minor victory, considering that my bank and I mail that little bastard around the country like it's a contest as to who wants it least.
I sat down to read The New York Times, and, as usual, it was no romantic comedy. Somebody is shooting random people in Maryland. Israelis and Palestinians can't stop killing each other (surprise). G.W. and his boys are prepping to touch off an ill-conceived war with an unstable dictator.
I sat through a class steaming about how badly things were going, mostly because of the shooting pain I would endure as my lip bled for the entire day.
Everyone understands what its like to have a really bad day. The unfortunate result of this phenomenon is that we often let the volatile emotions of these days lead to some really bad choices. You burn your toast in the morning, it wrecks your whole outlook on life and next thing you know, you're flat on your ass in an alley with a stolen bottle of whiskey talking to a stray dog about the cops harrassin' you.
The best thing to do on these days is realize that the cards are against you and it's best not to make any rash moves. Just go to bed as early as possible.
While there is no promise that everything will be better in the morning, there's a pretty good chance that 14 hours of sleep will give your lip enough time to scab over nicely.
