Did you hit me with a baseball bat while I was sleeping?

I have had a less than stellar week. I spent the better part of 2 hours on Saturday sitting in a snow-filled ditch wrapped in a blanket while my car was nestled in what I like to call a large patch of glorified twigs. Now there is no need to worry. I am fine. Not so much as a broken fingernail and my car got away with only several scratches and a dent the size of a Swedish meatball (you should know by now that my analogies are never normal) and then had to pay some creepy man over $100 to tow my ass out. But I then made it the rest of the 1.5 hours home only to get hit on by a band of sleazy men at the gas station (baby girl do you know you're in the hood? did you know that you're in the hood and you're sexy? that is not a safe combination here... in the hood) and arrive back at the MC only to find some jackass with a VW Golf (one of the five that VW actually sold of that model) parked in my spot. He picked the wrong day to park in my spot and came out to a lovely parking ticket and big orange violation sticker. In my neighborhood I could have smashed his front window and no one would have looked twice (because I live in the hood you know, in case you weren't paying attention earlier).

As if that weren't enough, my body decided to entirely crap out this week (you know, the week where I had a two-day theology test, two quizzes, and a project to finish). I could deal with the headaches and the throwing up, but today was simply the last straw. I woke up and my body just hurt everywhere as if I had put myself through some kind of rigorous workout routine, and we all know that is clearly not the case. Which brings me to my opening question. Did any of you hit me with a baseball bat while I was sleeping? And then drag me outside and run me over with your car 5 times? And then take me skydiving without a parachute? Cause it certainly feels like you did so you might as well fess up now.