Anti-Joy

I knew I was tempting fate with that "Joy" post, and it definitely turned around and bit me. Hard. The snow is gone, my master's degree is NOT finished, and the cookies--well, the cookies are still here...mostly. But two-thirds of my joy are gone, and in their place is a tantrum-throwing, screaming, sick toddler, a mischievous, hole-digging, toddler-biting puppy (more on that later), and an overwhelming desire to go on a homicidal rampage.

My last master's degree class ends in 6 hours, and I have engaged in a 2-day long email exchange with my instructor that has basically gone something like this:

Me: "Here's the paper I'm about to submit via the course website. Could you tell me if it looks OK first?"

Him: "Looks great."

[I submit the paper for a grade and he gives me a zero: "Incorrect formatting, please resubmit."]

Me: "Can you tell me what's wrong with the format so I can fix it?"

Him: "Please cooperate by using APA style."

Me: "As far as I know, I have used APA style--here is a quote from the source I used. Can you tell me what's incorrect, or if maybe the format is changing when I submit it via the website? Thanks for your time!"

Him: "Why are you arguing with me? I've been doing this for 10 years."

Me: "I'm not trying to be argumentative--I just need to know what you want me to change so I can format it the way you want it. Can you explain what is wrong with it? Thanks so much."

Him: "I can't believe how much time I've spent trying to deal with you over this." Still no response to my question of WHAT THE EFF IS WRONG WITH MY PAPER?!

So, here I sit. The class ends in 6 hours, and I'm still going back and forth with this guy over tiny formatting issues that, regardless of whether they're right or wrong, should not result in a zero on the entire paper. And because it's an online course and it's the weekend, there's no one to appeal to for help, so I'm basically at the mercy of this jerk and trying to be professional and polite because, let's face it, he has all the power right now.

As an added bonus, after I finally dragged my screaming toddler to the grocery store, I managed to lock her in the car with my keys and had to wait, while trying (unsuccessfully) not to cry, for Auto Club to come and rescue her. Fabulous.

When we finally got inside the store, she insisted on getting a "drive-drive" cart and then refused to sit in the car part, so I pushed around a heavy-a$$ cart with a giant car on the front for no reason, while she sat in the front of the cart and alternated between crying to be picked up, and throwing assorted groceries on the ground. (Dear Vons: Sorry, again, about the applesauce.)

The only redeeming quality of today, so far, is that at the grocery store checkout, the lady asked her, "Is Santa coming to your house?" and Cubby replied, "He's coming to TOWN." (She just heard that song on the radio a few days ago, and I don't think she has any idea what "coming to town" means, but everyone around cracked up. Even me, the Grumpus.)

I really, really would like a drink right now.