Laura and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

3:12 a.m. Wake up to pee. Crawl out of sofa bed (we have guests), do my business, flush the toilet. It overflows. Have the presence of mind to get the rug up off the floor, but am unable to successfully utilize the plunger. Near tears, kneel and start mopping the floor with bath towels. Thankfully, Chris wakes up, despite his earplugs, and fixes everything.

6:10 a.m. Wake up when I hear one of the guests go into the bathroom. Lie in rigid terror that the toilet will overflow on her. It doesn't. Thank goodness. But it's too late to go back to sleep.

7:09 a.m. Alarm goes off. Get up, shower, floss teeth. Remember I have dentist appointment this afternoon. Cringe.

8:01 a.m. Leave for subway with Chris. Love our guests, but am so happy to get some alone time with him. We board train. Friend I don't want to talk to is on our car. She removes her iPod earbuds. She has a cold and is clearly equally enthused about Monday morning pre-coffee chit-chat. We go through the motions regardless. Chris is quiet. He exits train at 14th Street. Friend leaves at 42nd. I get seat...one stop before mine.

8:42 a.m. Depart train. Enter line for 56th Street Starbucks. Stand behind fashionista who looks really good in skinny jeans. Mentally calculate how many pounds less than me she weighs, and opt for skim milk and no breakfast.

8:51 a.m.-3:36 p.m. Rat race. 'Nuff said.

4:01 p.m. Arrive half hour early for dentist appointment. Want to tell receptionist I'll come back at 4:30, but she is explaining the intricacies of payment plans to a non-native English speaker. Take off sweater coat and sit in corner. Wonder why I thought cashmere under-sweater was a good sartorial choice. Swelter.

4:28 p.m. Enter torturer's cell. Beautiful blond German sadistic hygienist pauses one row of teeth in and says, "Oh, now I'm going to start the lecture." Think to myself that entire reason I procrastinated so long on scheduling cleaning was because I dread the sermon much more than the pain.

5:01 p.m. Dentist enters. Hygienist gleefully informs him that I disregarded the three-month follow-up I was supposed to come in for a year ago. Uses the word "bloodbath," three hundred times. Dentist and hygienist fold arms and talk at me. I nod, apologize, promise, smile, look sad. Finally I utter, "Look, I'm sorry that I did a bad job, but you don't have to get ... adversarial with me." They apologize. I feel like shit and smile and promise some more. Schedule three-month follow-up even though my insurance won't cover it. Walk 14 blocks to subway and feel like terrible person, both for being inconsistent flosser and for calling them out on their excessive browbeating. Think to myself it wouldn't have been a bloodbath if she hadn't dug into my gums with a hacksaw, but diligently set mental daily-flossing goal. Call Chris and promise to pick up groceries for dinner.

5:20 p.m. Enter subway station, thinking to myself, "I always have to pee when I wait at the 2nd Avenue stop." Sure enough, today is no exception. Dash down stairs only to see an F train pull away.

5:43 p.m. An F finally arrives. It is too full to board.

5:51 p.m. Another F arrives. It is almost equally full, but I squash on. Ponder to myself this post that I am going to write. Plan to include positive addendum in which I will praise John le Carre for writing gripping books that fit in my purse, and Steve Jobs for the iPod.

6:04 p.m. Exit train. Debate going home to pee, but think shudderingly of precarious toilet and head one block past home to the Italian supermarket. Examine meat in glass; look up, terrified, at friendly butcher; feel unable to perform human interaction. Walk six blocks in other direction to organic supermarket. Their meat selection consists of prepackaged turkey slices and $13 chicken breasts. Purchase $5 chicken thighs, $4 Indian eggplant in a box, and $4 salad (also in a box). Wait in long line behind rich mommies.

6:24 p.m. Toilet flushes without incident. Hurrah! Curl up on couch with John le Carre and wait for Chris to call.

6:30 p.m. Text message from Chris. "Hey got sucked into work meetup sorry will call in fifteen." Write back, "Ok xoxo!"

8:35 p.m. Many text messages later, am not mad at Chris, but am livid at his boss (a twelve hour work day is, in my opinion, pushing it), and also starving. Pour glass of red wine. Put groceries away. Attempt to heat leftovers. Try all four burners of new stove. Each leaks gas. Eat saucer of cold leftovers and a Milano cookie. Okay, two Milano cookies. Stupid skinny-jeans-wearing-girl.

9:25 p.m. Try flopping in bed with book. Read for five minutes. Realize that bedroom is not only located under building staircase, but that new upstairs neighbors are apparently moving in. Try to look on bright side: they sound young, and nice. Hope this means they are given to sleeping in on weekends, unlike whomever was tromping around at 7:30 on Sunday morning. Unfortunately, it sounds more like they're given to parties, and clompy shoes. Tell myself I'm being overly pessimistic, and return to couch.

10:01 p.m. Writing this post. My living room is cute, but empty of people. So is my glass. Contemplate flossing, then gargling with vodka; am dismayed to realize I, unlike le Carre's characters, am not in Communist Russia, and thus have no vodka. Floss anyway. Going to bed. Some days, it doesn't pay to get out of bed in the first place.