I can vaguely remember a time when I used to have it together

I'm slipping, people. I'm slipping.

I set the alarm for 6:45 this morning. I needed to get up at 6:15.

If only all of my blunders were so benign. Let me tell you of my greatest humiliation in the past 72 hours. And, let's call this story "Pride Cometh Before the Fall."

I was so proud of myself. I bought four, count 'em, four presents at one time. I had them gift wrapped; I had them labeled (an important part of the story that you should remember for later); I had them lined up on the counter ready for their individual disbursements.

We went to a birthday party on Friday evening. I didn't realize until the birthday girl opened our gift that I had given her the wrong one. The sweet birthday girl, whose initials are S.R., was really confused by the "T" pendant she found herself holding. 

Everything ran in slow motion in my mind as the following things happened simultaneously: her eyes squinted in confusion; I did a dive over the back of the couch to snatch it from her and pretend the whole thing hadn't happened, all the while yelling, "Oh-my-gosh-I-gave-you-the-wrong-gift!" 

To complete my horror, after I retrieved the gift, I realized it was marked with the name of the correct recipient. 

[But, one bonus did arise from my faux pas: We discovered S.R.'s alter ego, "Teresa" (who seems to have quite a few stories to tell...).]

As the weekend progressed, things didn't get any better. I was getting out of the car to walk into church on Sunday and felt something dripping on my foot. I realized much too late that the dripping was the coffee out of the mug I was holding that was pouring down the front of my dress.

Today I left my attorney's office feeling smug that I had just signed my will - I'm such a responsible adult now! While patting myself on the back for being so mature, I was moved to do a little Mary Tyler Moore jump off the curb as I started to cross the street... and twisted my ankle... and lurched and lumbered across the intersection in my best Godzilla-stomping-Tokyo impression.

And, finally, I've lost a pot. And, not one of your everyday, inconsequential, sauce pots that are too small with which to really do anything anyway. No. I've lost a stock pot. A big one. The kind with two handles on the sides. There are only so many cabinets in my kitchen in which it would even fit - and it's not in any of them. It's not like I take my stock pot out to party with me, either, so I know I didn't leave it at a club or anything. (That just made me laugh. I clearly channel Ke$ha while I write blog posts now because I can't remember the last time I was in a club.)

Pretty soon I'm just going to be the crazy lady walking down the street with my underwear on the outside of my clothes yelling at the wind.

Maybe a little more sleep would do me good - and I mean more than the accidental 30 minutes I treated myself to this morning.