There comes a point in every man’s life when…… [insert thoughtfully inspired challenge right *here*].

Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve already fired off a couple of dispatches that start like that during the self imposed challenge of carrying out Letters From The Past over the last 8 months. I’m out of ideas for blogs that open with that statement for now.

This weekend, I need to work on getting the house cleaned up. The western branch manager is coming into town for Juniorette’s birthday next weekend. The weekend after that will have managers from two of the three northern branches of the organization dropping in on headquarters for a refresher seminar on the proper assembly of guacamole. One of them had the audacity to mix some mayo with a few avocados several years ago and tried to pass it off as guacamole. The Nigella Lawson wanna-be has been on administrative probation every since.

Interloper.

Along with putting some physical effort into cleaning the joint up, so is it necessary to clean out some clutter in the cabeza as well.

This afternoon went south on me at the point that I ordered a chicken-bacon wrap for lunch. The young man at the deli had the unfortunate deed to inform me they didn’t have any bacon.

After that, life in cubeville took on the appearance of a wreck in slow motion as I juggled three different issues which had come to a head. Seriously, people. Who in tarnation comes up with these thunderous headache causing issues on a Friday afternoon? Isn’t there a Constitutional protection against such heresy?

Even worst was the fact that when researching a particularly innocuous issue which was expected to have been resolved a few weeks ago, it turned out the matter wasn’t resolved. Not only was it not resolved, the source of the infection was a fat finger issue on my part.

I came home in a bad mood, I can’t get it out of my head, and I’m still fuming over it. Adding salt to the wound, I’ll be taken to the proverbial woodshed over it. There’s no excuse and no defense for it. I screwed it up.

There’s been a little voice in the back of my head needling me about the event for the last two weeks. This project had too many facets to it to go as smoothly as it did. Something had to have gone wrong. What was it?

I ultimately gave up on that voice after awhile and chalked it up to an overactive sense of paranoia fed by my self diagnosed OCD.

Since the unfortunate event of realizing my mistake took place on a Friday afternoon, I’ll have to wait the whole weekend to face the music. There goes the next two days of mental lethargy.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go cut a switch.