Generally speaking, I am an intelligent woman. However, there are times when I am a dumbass, and, from time to time, that dumbassery approaches Nobel Prize-winning level. Writing that post about Loki and calling him a jerk? That was Nobel Prize-winning stuff there, my friends.

I had 48 good weeks last year; but, the last four? Well, after mentioning that my year had been a good one, the last four were atrocious. As I wrote on Tuesday, during those weeks, I learned that my son could not come to visit for Christmas (marking our first Christmas apart), my roof started leaking, I got sick, and my dog went from fine to dead in four days. Thinking that Loki was done, I called him a jerk, brushed my teeth and went to bed.

He wasn’t done.

On Monday, I lost my job as the result of some company restructuring and on Tuesday, my 83-year-old father injured himself in a way that could be fatal in a person his age.

Sigh.

While the elimination of my position makes good business sense, it still sucks because I’m the one taking the hit. I’m not angry with my former employers. I truly get it and I have nothing but respect and goodwill towards them. Still, my feelings are hurt and I’m annoyed that I have to find another job. I had not seen this coming, either, so I’m still a little in shock. While I was still absorbing that change and all it entails, a friend called to tell me that my father had taken a significant fall and was at the hospital getting stitches in the gash in his head. Octogenarians should avoid falling in general and they should really stay away from knocking themselves unconscious. My dad, Evel Knievel, did neither. While Dad was not seriously hurt, a college friend of his died two years ago from a similar fall. As you might imagine, I was in a rare state until I could clap eyes on him.

Today, my mind is on overload, my spirit is exhausted, and my soul is brittle. I am all full up on crises and emotional upheaval. Call my original statement of having had a good year tempting fate (or Loki), call it coincidence, call it superstition, or call it Nobel Prize-winning dumbassery. Whatever you want to call it, I’m just calling “Uncle.”