Thwappage

After thwapping my forehead repeatedly, groaning and cursing myself, "HOW COULD YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR 4 P.M. APPOINTMENT?" I called the person  I accidentally stood up and left a heartfelt "I am so sorry, I screwed up" message.

I'd scheduled a 4 p.m. phonecall with him and had even written 4 P.M. in two-inch block Sharpie on the back of my hand. Note the back of my hand -- where it would be visible all afternoon right under my eyeballs while I worked.

And then proceeded to forget it.

It simply stunned me that the clock said 4:30. I'm not sure if I spaced out and thought I'd made the appointment for 5 p.m. or if I simply thought it was 3:30. But just moments before I realized I'd missed the appointment by 30 minutes, I'd been thinking, "I've still got a little time before I have to make this call."

I really need to interview this guy for my story due next week. But I wouldn't blame him if he tells me to go take a walk off a short pier. He must be thinking, "What a ding bat. What a cornflake. What a scatterbrain."

This snafu so mentally discombobulated me that concentrating on research for my three upcoming deadlines wasn't not even a possibility.

So I set about picking up clutter and doing laundry, setting the egg timer for 15-minute increments. (We have an electrician coming tomorrow morning.) But frustration returned when I realized how icky and gritty basement floor was on my one bare foot.

I had only one shoe on because I'd somehow misplaced the other one. How can a grownup lose a shoe??? How?? How?