Today was a disaster from the moment I opened my eyes, but as keeping my eyes closed was not an option, I suppose I weathered it well enough. I will spare you all of the boring details, but the source of most of the anguish was the state and corporate bureaucracy involved in selling my car, a process I had wanted to go smoothly since the buyer is my ex-boyfriend, with whom I am still on very good terms. Possibly less good terms after this, but I am doing my best.

In a related and equally annoying turn of events, I took six large boxes of books from storage at my ex's house and delivered them to the only used-book store in Baltimore that still seems to be open and accepting merchandise. I was asked to leave them until the owner could appraise them and call me with an offer, which I did. Later that evening, as I pulled up in front of my apartment in Manhattan, my cell phone rang with the news. I held my breath as I waited for the verdict. There were several thousand dollars worth of books there, after all, and I was prepared to take a tremendous loss. Anything less than three hundred dollars, I thought, and I will have a charity pick them up and take the write-off. Three hundred dollars would be a more-than-fair asking price.

The offer: thirty-five dollars.

I choked on my own saliva, faked reception problems, and hung up. I suppose I will have to deal with this over the weekend, along with a multitude of other evil. (I would blame Spuds for all of this, but it is quite beyond his capability.)

After returning the rental car, I took Goblin for a walk in Central Park. We paused to appreciate a reggae duo composed of a Rastafarian and a painted clown. Then I headed home to lose myself in the highlight of my day: filling the new shower pumps I bought at Target with shampoo and conditioner.

I am scouring my horoscope for signs of improvement.