Sound off in the comments folks: have you ever had one of those days where the opening chords of “Walking on Sunshine” replace the sound of the alarm in your head, and you spring out of bed ready to carpe the heck out of this diem, and then you trip over your own insecurity, slip in a puddle of forgotten embarrassments, and hit the floor right on your pride? (My father, may he rest in whatever state makes him happy, used to delicately refer this anatomical cushion as the “behunkerdunker.”)

It all started out so good. My favorite dress is clean. My breakfast plan was on-point. No PopTarts for this girl this morning. No sir. I had yogurt! And berries that I remember purchasing, which means they weren’t moldy! And fresh coffee! With liquid (as opposed to solid) half and half to add in! Yup! The sunshine was all over the floor and I was walking on it!

And then…Thursday. I don’t remember very much of Douglas Adams Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy from reading it when I was eleven (it was a rite of passage in my family). I remember that every person should carry a towel with them wherever they go, because you never know, and I remember that Arthur Dent says “I never could get the hang of Thursdays.” I am pretty sure he says that after a bulldozer clears his house from the surface of Earth.

We are only halfway through the day, but I am all tangled up in my insecurity and I keep falling down. I am supposed to do something tomorrow that is one of the last, but most important steps to finishing getting my certification. Normally, I would be able to channel the part of my mother that reminds me that everything will be fine, and when at first you don’t succeed, you try try again. (I was raised by people who didn’t just read inspirational posters, but believed them.) But today, her voice is drowned out by a storm of worries and memories of things I got wrong.

The side effect of this is that I don’t think the kids are very funny today. Their unrelenting need to whine sounds like nails on a chalkboard and every time they ask me what their grade is, or what we are doing today, or is this for a grade, or what time is this class over, I hear the theme to Jaws playing in my head. I keep thinking about that children’s book where the teacher dresses up as a mean, fairytale witch-coded character (think BabaYaga), and pretends to be gone and the witch-teacher replaces her and she unloads everything she thinks on the little boogers. It’s called Miss Nelson Is Missing by Harry Allard and James Marshall (check it out at your local library!)

Anyway, if anyone sees a sense of humor crawling around, please comment at the end of the post, or let it know I miss it.