Complaints of luxury

I came home this afternoon to find a parking ticket on my car. . . my car that is parked in my own driveway. Apparently I was so rude as to "park in the sidewalk," even though the photos I subsequently took clearly show my tire falling on the driveway side of the driveway/sidewalk divide.

Once inside my home, I am greeted by three letters, documenting 10 visits to the Physical Therapist for which my insurance company claims to not have received the proper referral. The thing is, in addition to going through the third degree about the referral with the PT staff from the beginning, I've already submitted this referral to the insurance company. . . twice.

Adding humility to injustice, I went to the Korean Spa on Sunday with the dual purpose of celebrating Easter as well as ushering out the dregs of my near-death cold. They were fresh out of massage appointments, so I treated myself to my first facial. I'll spare you the details, but I'm not becoming a facial devotee - and, guess whose lower face is weirdly dry and chapped and exuberating a burning sensation. Mine.

So in one way, this is a crappy day. In another - imagine how inconvenient and unjust my life would feel if I had no car, no driveway, no insurance, and no means to buy myself facials on major holidays? I think it would be worse.