What the hell was I thinking?

Dd has a playdate this afternoon. The house is a wreck. I've got a 9:30 appt this morning to go "under the knife". I have no idea what to expect but I know it's going to hurt like hell. And for some reason the master bath smells like a greyhound terminal men's room. Not to imply that I've ever been in a greyhound terminal men's room but I'm sure it couldn't smell much worse. At least my feet aren't sticking to the floor.
My dad is sick. My friend's mom is having a liver biopsy. Another friend is pissed at me beyond reason. Dh is nagging me about starting the tiling. And I haven't started working on my anthology project.

Kill me now.