I had one of those goddamnmotherfuckingshittyrotten days. You know the ones I mean. If it could have gone wrong, it did. Now, I recognize these are the kinds of days that we need to experience to keep our whole perspective of life in balance. It reminds us to be appreciative of the good in our lives. But, yeah, fuck that. At least today.

Pray let me regale you with the foibles of the day.

It started off badly when I got up and staggered to the kitchen for the morning coffee. I stepped squarely into a moist pile of cat vomit, placed, I'm convinced, strategically in the center of the kitchen entrance. The cunning feline made sure it was chunky genre of vomit. Lovely.

I got a seat on the subway (which I thought was a good omen) so I settled in and delved into my book. I'm particularly caught up in this piece of literature, another Wharton novel, and before I knew it, the train had bypassed my stop by 10 blocks. It didn't help that it was 28 degrees outside and I had to schlep on my back a gym bag with all my boxing gear, a briefcase and a purse.

I had a client call this morning that was particularly important. I knew I'd have to beg, entice and cajole with utter conviction to win some critical business we needed. I was in a DKNY suit, pearls, my polished best. However, I wanted to wear a sharp pair of boots that I had taken to the cobbler to reheel which I knew were ready to be picked up. Knowing I could slip these kick ass boots on when I got to work, I wore a pragmatic pair of French comfort shoes, Mephistos, for my commute. My foreshadowing sucks because you can surmise the turn of events when I arrived at the cobbler--not only were the boots not ready, they couldn't find them. I let loose with a torrent of cool seething profanity. But in the end, really, what can you do? I could not dither--I had a meeting to get to, even if it meant going in flat shoes. The humiliation.

For the call, I stopped and picked up a dozen decadent designer muffins at Le Pain Quotidian to woo my client. She kept me waiting 20 minutes. When she saw the box, she uttered disdainfully, "Oh, I just started Weight Watchers. " Fuck. I gave the box to her media minions who savaged it like a pack of wild dogs with a piece of prime rib.

After the meeting, I returned to the office. Let's put it this way--there was shit hitting every propeller on the fan for the next seven hours. I couldn't resolve one problem before another erupted. Like synchronized swimmers, they came in perfectly paced order. I spent so much of the day putting out fires that I never did get to the workload that needed real attention. And unless I can actually get it all done tomorrow, I already foresee a weekend spent in the office working.

At lunchtime, I couldn't find the spinach salad I had put in the lunchroom refrigerator. All that remained was the small container of balsamic vinegar I had packed with the salad. So whoever took and consumed my lunch, I hope that roughage makes your bowels ache with unmitigated pain for at least 12 hours.

At the end of the day, I hurried to the gym. I've been true to my increased exercise vow and on Tuesday night in class, I was promoted to a new belt, the next step up. They made a big show of the presentation and I felt like I had won an Oscar. I learned a new belt has its perks. In class tonight, I was the Joshu's sparring partner in demonstrating front, round and knee kicks for the class. I also was given the top rank spot in the lines. I enjoyed my brief moment of fame, because it ended tonight. With my next belt comes changes. I have been essentially kicked up (out) from this class and into all new classes. I was given my schedule which including next level core classes, kickboxing sparring and grappling...and I am on the low rung of the food chain again. When I saw my Joshu as I left the gym tonight, the old chicken nearly welled up. I'll miss his class. Brother worked the shit out of me.

So the day finally drew to an end. Reposing on the subway as I headed uptown, I reflected on this very strange day. The stress slowly ebbed away and just as I started to feel human again, a man got on the train and sat next to me. Five minutes into the ride, I kid you not, he blew out a fart. And it smelled. Badly. It's par for the course. Tomorrow is another day.