This morning, as my alarm was going off at 6:45 like does every day, I realized with a snap that I was supposed to be at my office store at 6am to meet a delivery truck, as last week I separated the manager who normally does this.

Cue14 minutes of hysterical rushing around, briefly splashing water on my still-sleeping face, stumbling into the first clothes I laid hands on, and ultimately trying not to hit any of the “why the fuck aren’t you fucking people wearing reflective fucking clothes, get out of the fucking road” joggers on the “why the fuck doesn’t this street have any fucking streetlights for what we pay in property taxes” road. Burst into the store, run to the front door, no delivery driver. Awesome. He’s probably halfway back to Columbus, and my inbox is going to be full of nasty messages from transportation, right?

YOU GUYS, IT’S SUNDAY. THE DAY BEFORE MONDAY. THE DAY I DIDN’T NEED TO WAKE UP BEFORE NOON. THE DAY NO DELIVERIES ARE MADE BECAUSE IT’S MOTHERFUCKING SUNDAY.

Amuse me, GT! Because I feel like a clubbed baby seal, my hair is soaking wet, I have no fucking breakfast, and I’m definitely not going home now.

What’s on everyone’s “OMG IT’S SUNDAY” vagenda?