I am the bearer of the good news that my statistics class is meeting this evening. Does this ever happen to you? Your day is going along swimmingly. You arrive 15 minutes early to work; the coffee pot is full; and you are even looking forward to getting to your cubicle. It all seems to be a run-of-the-mill, menacingly average day. At 1:00 p.m., you savor your whole wheat veggie burger and cheese sandwich. You even feel upbeat enough to make several long-overdue phone calls that require you to use your easy-listening-radio-announcer demeanor. You're looking forward to leaving the office early to meet with your stats tutor. The meeting should only take about an hour, and then you can go home and browse part-time jobs on craigslist while you watch TV. All is lovely. All is leisurely. Then the shit hits the fan as you realize that you are scheduled for a 2-hour statistics *marathon* session. This is the class where you never get out early (even though it's summer) and the instructor speaks in a monotone. WTF? I thought I *just* went to that class yesterday! Oops, that was *two* days ago. So I have to go from work to home, walk the dogs, eat dinner, meet with my tutor, and *then* attend my 2-hour class. If there is nothing else that blows monkey dick, it is this. Just when I thought God's love and sheer jubilation was shining on me. Am I destined to perish from sheer agony? Has the weight of the world ever been as great on my shoulders? Surely I am not the only unfortunate soul that has mistakenly mixed up the days of the week. I shall let you know if I perish, or if I survive tonight's class.