I cook for a living. We all pretty much know that. I don’t know how many hard boiled eggs I’ve cut into in my career, but considering one of my regular groups has an inexplicable obsession with deviled eggs, it would be safe to guesstimate somewhere around 20 bazillion. What do I find today when I cut into one? Today, the day that my heart is a little worse for the wear and it’s all I can do to be productive in between my 42 naps? No, nothing gross but an oddly shaped yolk. That is in the shape of a perfect heart. Really? I took a picture of it and was going to post it, but that brings me to part two of of how much symbolic irony sucks. I can’t post the picture because I took it with my phone. The phone that spontaneously jumped out of my pocket and into the toilet. Yes, again.
As much of my life is in that phone (calendar, contacts, text message strings, angry birds ;- )), I find it hysterical that some sort of karmic asshole felt the need to illustrate to me how sucky my life is today by having me drop my life/phone in the crapper. Message received. Awesome.