Dumb, dumb, dumb...

...that would be me.

I'm having one of those days. You know, the kind in which you're glad you aren't the one with a finger on the Red Button (because if you were, the planet would be instantly vaporized simply because you can't control those manic urges) or operating heavy machinery.

All I've operated today is a computer, and even that has resulted in a certain amount of damage. Sharp objects? Don't have any nearby, thank you.

I guess it all began last night. I was enjoying a perfectly pleasant conversation with a friend when an email came in. It advised me that one of my articles, hot off the press, contained an egregious error. An error which, so far as I can determine, I made all on my own with no help from anyone.

What I was writing about was a device produced in minuscule quantities, and so its serial number has great value to collectors. Somehow, I got it into my head -- and notebook -- that this particular example was Number 052 of its series.

Nope. It was Number 067.

I would ordinarily castigate myself briefly, dash off a note to the magazine editor telling him to run a correction in the next issue, and laugh it off. Yes, it is embarrassing to make a mistake, but after writing well over a thousand articles in my "career," I've learned you can't hit a home run every time at bat.

(Where the hell did that metaphor come from?)

But knowing the owner of this device -- by no coincidence the person who sent me the email -- leads me to feel absolutely certain that this mistake will be hung around my neck like a giant, stinking albatross. I haven't heard the end of it, and will not for a good long time.

The memory of those irritating moments last night has steamrollered its was into my consciousness every time I needed to check a fact during my work today.

As a result, neither my work nor my temper have been worth a hill of horse dung today.

I was considering jacking the whole thing in and heading down to one of the local sleazy bars for a drink. Or 10. But then I realized I'd have to sit with myself in the bar, and I'm definitely in a mood to punch myself out.

And so, as soon as my fresh pot of coffee has finished brewing, I'll get back to work.

If I screw up the current article in any way relating to facts, it won't be my fault. I'm working mainly from printed information sheets.

I'm not having a very good time here, Jim.