Don’t step in dog shit…and other first world non-issues.

I recently read somewhere:

There’s a glimmer of humour in misery.  It’s a day changer.

I can’t remember who said it though…

I occasionally work unsociable hours and it is a requirement of my profession that I am on call.

I was having a fairly sleep deprived weekend.  If someone has a tendency to be busy when they are on call…we call them a shit magnet.  The irony did not escape me that when I walked to my car, having been called out again after midnight, that I literally did stand in dog shit.  You want to discover this before you get into your car…not after.  How much worse was my night going to get?

…Hours later, having watched the sun rise through the window at work, I got home a bit bleary eyed.  Sorted out my car.  Was moments from making breakfast when I feel asleep.  Woke up after lunch, thinking I should probably eat.  Got food out of the fridge.  Not yet fully coordinated, I managed to knock the plate onto the floor, scattering food everywhere, including under the sofa.  I got down on my hands and knees to survey the damage, briefly wondering if it would be okay to eat off the floor, went all the way into what the yogi’s would call ‘child’s pose’ , with your head on the floor, which also happens to be a great position for banging your head against the floor.  I sighed heavily.

Sorted out the floor.  Took the ‘Fully Raw Christina’ approach to eating and had 3 bananas and 2 red peppers.  Decided to go for a swim, wondering if the way my day was going the third bad thing might involve me drowning.  Not that I’m superstitious or anything (touching wood and ducking as birds fly overhead).

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