You know it's a bad day

...when even the mystery woman having explosive machine gun farts in the stall next to you fails to make you crack a smile.

It's been three days since I've seen Pants, awake, for more than twenty minutes at a time. Our schedules are completely opposite. P. the Roomie persists in using my special soap, leaving all the lights on, leaving the back door unlocked, and spattering various greasy substances on my range top without mopping them up with the antibacterial kitchen cleaner I've helpfully put out next to it.

An early morning run, the first in way too long, has succeeded in taking just the foamy head off of my freshly tapped brew of passive aggressiveness. Mainly that was because of the flowers-- tulips, daffodils, pansies, wild roses, California poppies, sweet pea blossoms, and almond and cherry tree blossoms-- that have popped out all over town in the last week. Also, I ran by a tiny house with a playscape in the chainlink fenced back yard, and in among the wreckage of kid toys was a big brown dog of uncertain pedigree, lounging in the sun-fired dew underneath the plastic swings. His back was to me, but as I huffed by he rolled on his back and studied me from upside down. This dog also did a lot to skim the mean off me this morning.