It Could Be Worse, I Suppose.

I've been wallowing in self-pity a lot this week. The oral hygienist told me I have gingivitis even though I'm one of the ten people on the face of the earth who actually does floss, Addison spilled our sea monkeys all over the ottoman, I got a cold and realized we were out of both TheraFlu and whiskey the day after our medical FSA expired, I picked at what would have been a small unnoticeable zit and made it instead the focal point of my face, my kid learned how to get out of her crib, no one in my family has a job right now except for Ella, who is the line leader this week at school, a position that pays in prestige only, my book proposal got rejected by my agent who won't even accept my invitation to be my friend on facebook and oh, woe is me, the last two years of my life have all been for not and I shall never ever ever write again, nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I guess I'll go eat worms.... And then I saw House last night, and a woman got her period out her face. That's right, menstrual fluid was coming out of her ears, eyes, nose and mouth. So now I'm thinking maybe my week hasn't been so bad after all.