This is the term my friend J uses when a day is running on one cylinder, i.e.,badly. Here's the lowdown:
The phone rings at 6:45 Monday morning. Whaaaa? Whoooo...? Hey, it's the Union Hall! When? Where? Doing what? Okay!
Himself: "I gotta go to work!"
Me: "Okay, I'll call mom to babysit."
This is approximately where the Handcart to Hell showed up, beginning with Mom yelling at Himself to hire a babysitter and ending with Himself coming home covered in chemical burns from the knees down.
This led to silfert stomping around and snarling, gauze bandages and ointment in hand, threatening to quit her day job in order to stay home with the little man, or else become a hugely successful recording artist or writer in order to allow Himself to stay home from dangerous jobs.
On the plus side, the job only lasts three weeks. On the bad side, he may not have any skin left on his legs by then. On the twisted optimism side, we could own a Chicago construction company in three weeks.
You can buy a lot of yarn and guitars with that kind of backing.