I was planning to visit the butterfly conservatory today, but I backed into the garage doorway and broke my sideview mirror as I was leaving.
Yeah, if there's a better karmic indicator that you shouldn't go out today, I'd like to hear it. Still, the mirror itself was intact, so me being me, I decided, "What the hell, I can salvage this." So I reattached the mirror with packing tape. It wasn't until I had gotten back in the car that I realized I had reattached it at far too wide an angle to be able to actually see anything. But it's only the passenger side mirror, so I'll be fine, right? LOLOL no.
What I neglected to mention in the first sentence is that I've only been to the butterfly conservatory three times. I have no idea how to drive there. The only directional aids I had were a Google Maps printout. It told me to turn from Hampden Street onto Northampton Street. There is no sign on Hampden Street that says "Northampton Street." If Northampton Street DOES in fact intersect Hampden Street, they've hidden it damn well. To complicate matters it's raining mountain lions and wolves (which, on the bright side, at least means the mirror isn't so much of a problem since I can't see anything anyway) and my car keeps making this funny noise. Fuck it, I'm smart enough to know I'm not going to South Deerfield in this state. I'll turn around and go to the library. Unfortunately it takes me fifteen minutes to figure out HOW to turn around so I can go to the library, but I manage.
On the way to the library I run over a pothole so large that it injures my shoulder.
Thank you, life, that will be all from you today. I need a fucking drink.