Do you ever think the world is out to get you?

I do, and I have proof. Consider the events of the last month or so... I started the month with viral bronchitis caught, no doubt, from the guy in the office next to me. He comes to work whether he's healthy as a horse, or suffering from a horribly contagious disease. As he coughed, in what started to sound like the rhythm of some dramatic classical concerto, I knew my days were numbered. This lovely affliction lasted just over five weeks. Five.

Then, I finally felt better, so I decided to celebrate by going out to dinner with friends. I figured it was a good idea to eat healthy to maintain my immune system in an effort to avoid all the other germs flying around the office. I ordered the salmon. Big mistake. The next day, I discovered in the most disguting possible way that I had food poisoning, the effects of which lasted for three days. Three! At this point, I start to wonder about the world's plot against me, but I convince myself that the bad luck is over and the wonder of the holiday season is now here.

To mark the start of the holiday season, I decide to download some Christmas tunes from ITunes. I turn on my computer and try to access the internet. Nothing. "Cannot connect to server." It may as well have said, "This is the world. We hate you. You suck." I figure this problem must have a solution so I call technical support. I spent two straight hours being transferred from one department to the next, and just when it seemed that nobody could solve my problem, a friendly woman had me try one last thing. It worked, and I was back online. Well, I was online but no longer able to use a wireless signal to connect. I am firmly attached to that stupid cable.

At this point, I am stressed out and unhappy. What, might you ask, is the way to relieve this stress? Yes, retail therapy. So, I go to one of my favorite department stores, which in a stroke of what I thought was luck (foolish, idealistic, naive PAF), was having a shoe sale. I found the most beautiful pair of black dressy boots that had been heavily discounted. They fit perfectly. I was happy, bordering on giddy as the salesman rang up my purchase. I carried the bag back to my office (nothing better than shopping at lunch), and finished the day. The whole way home on the train, I thought of my new boots and imagined possible outfits that would most flatter the boots. I was so distracted by my outfit daydreams that I got off the train, without the boots. As the doors closed, I realized my oversight and the panic attack began. I pep talked myself into going to the next and last station stop to check the train for my bag. As you can probably guess by the theme of this post, the bag wasn't there. I begged the station master for help, but she told me the lost in found stayed locked until the following morning and gave me a number to call. Heavy-hearted and distraught over the loss of boots and therefore a lot of money, I went home. I got up this morning, knowing the boots would not be at lost and found. I called the number and sure enough, a less-than-friendly man informed me they had not been turned in. He indicated that perhaps someone might turn them in over the course of the next two days. Don't hold your breath. I'm not.