A happy ending of a shite day

Anyone want my day? Because it doesn't feel like it belongs to me. I'm mightily pissed off. No particular reason, apart from being really knackered and in pain. Last night I wished I could throw far enough to stop those helicopters from circling above my house. Can't they do that by day? Do they have to do it at night and for hours? And this morning I awoke earlier than I wanted to due to my bladder about to burst. After that I couldn't sleep anymore and decided to could get up anyway.
The day has started shite and evil grinned at me as I forgot to take out the butter, the bread crumbed between my fingers and the soap slipped more than once out of my hand.
When I wanted to refill the pressure sprayer for to spray the vivarium, a thingy broke, which only didn't make it useless for my DIY skills. Glad I didn't chop off my finger, considering what a wonderful hour I already had to look back to. Quickly dipped out to send my friend her headset which she forgot and didn't see the single bubble wrap envelops, thought they didn't sell them and bought a pack of ten instead. Something I probably never use again. In the post office, just one person before me, but it took ages. Yes, how much I love waiting!
On my way to the garden, the damn roads were packed with idiots who drove in my way, or obviously thought my home grown airbags (tits and arse) would be enough protection in case they knocked me off my bike! Never mind, I only have terrible back pain today, after the 40 times back and forth with two watering cans hanging from both of my arms. In addition to that I banged several of my body parts against visible obstacles -- a favourite hobby of mine -- and therefore will end up looking green and blue.

On the roof, the guy I brought some home made meat balls and pasta salad saw me working and didn't come up to say hello or report how good the food was until much later, which I found rather ungrateful. And when opening our tool box, I hurt my hand where the iguana bit me. You know this sort of pain, when it knocks the air out of you first, then sends tears shooting into your eyes and you swear the heftiest words only people with Tourette would say? Yes, exactly that sort of pain jolted through my right arm. Didn't really lift my mood. Somehow I ran around like a headless chicken and couldn't find a proper system to work, which drove me mad, I filled the kettle with water and forgot to switch it on, left my secateurs in a bed and had to search for it, couldn't find a place for the lettuce to got, etc.

Stopped at the supermarket. I a great idea for a home made sandwich with humus and falafel or chicken -- When I finally bit into it, the chicken sandwich didn't rise to my expectations. I hate it when that happens. And because I'm far too tired to write and I feel terribly guilty when I don't write I'll now have a bottle of wine. At least I'll have a good night's sleep, or so I hope.