I was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of a car's brakes squealing, followed by a medium-loud crash. I didn't bother getting up to have a look, because I just wanted to get back to sleep. (My guy looked though, and there was no drama). As Murphy's Law would have it though, I became more and more awake until I was in exactly the right condition to start worrying about all those things one worries about in the early hours of the morning.
As a result of that interruption to my beauty sleep, my mood today was not particularly pretty. The headache set in soon after my arrival at work, and didn't go away all day.
So it was just as well that I'd been recruited for the morning's face-painting session. It was my second ever time at trying to paint animal masks on hyperactive children, and the results were much more to my liking the second time around. After all, I am an artist (though only a relative beginner), so the pressure was on to produce competent faces.
I forced myself to go to the gym, motivated by memories of what I look like in lycra, and was fairly tired by the time I drove out of the carpark.
What could've been the last straw was when I didn't give way to a police car. It wasn't my fault, since he'd indicated left and I was going right (i.e. I had right of way) - it was only just as I started turning that his indicator went off. The police car lights flashed behind me and I was feeling indignant that I was going to be a victim of shoddy police driving and a costly fine. When the cop drew up behind me and got out, I started yelling (with humour - I always seem to temper my anger with humour) that he was in the wrong. He took it pretty well, told me he only wanted to check my alcohol level and went back to his car smiling. It could've been worse I suppose.
I now feel good again. My boy has brought home a large chocolate mud cake and is busy making dinner for us as I write. And this link told me I was just wonderful.