Why I Don't Play Any Sports

I've had a hard day.  Not the worst day ever but the kind of day that started out crappy and went downhill.  Tears have been building pressure at the backs of my eyeballs all day long. 

How my day started....

I fixed my coffee...first checking the Keurig water reservoir for ants...yes, ants....and sure enough there were a couple floating in there.  We have ants...apparently Pharoah ants...still...and finally called an exterminator.  He quoted us a $150.00 service fee with no guarantee that they would go away or that they wouldn't come back.  Well, never mind then...that's what we have going on for free now.  So we cancelled and are totally frustrated while the ants are winning.

Bad mood begins.

I took my coffee (with either no ants or a boiled ant) and a sack of goodies upstairs to wrap so I could mail a package to Jordan. While in the craft room, I saw Will come out of the guest room.

Me:  Why did you sleep in there?

Will:  'Cause Sadie's Anal Gland popped and got all over my sheets.

Sorry, I should have warned you that was coming....but I had no warning either.

Bad mood cranks up a notch.

Yeah.  So you're on my side now aren't you?  Sadie is our 7 year old chihuahua with a vacant anal gland now.

Gross.

And now 2 sets of sheets have to be washed.  On.  My.  Day.  Off.

Only I pitched a little menopausal fit and Will washed the sheets as well as cleaned his room.  Because the fit will be blamed on menopause I will call it that...but it's really because I saw piles of stuff spilling out of the gameroom and Will's room. 

Then, I ran a million errands in this ridiculous heat and fought off the need to cry all day.  Does it ever hit you like that? 

Bad mood taking precedent over everything. 

So by 5 I call Chuck and tell him I need a margarita.  He says okay because he's nice like that. 

I come home from errands and he comes home from work.   He checks the mail then says he's ready to go. He heads out to the car while I finish getting ready.  I am met at the back door by Harry and a tennis ball.  I usually give him a treat when I leave but Chuck was waiting so I was in a hurry.  I decide to throw the ball outside for him ...as a substitute "treat." 

I pick up the ball, throw back my hand and bring it forward to let go of the ball....I believe it's called throwing.  Only, my hand was stopped mid-air by the door frame. 

My.  Hand. Was. Stopped.  By.  A. Door. Frame.  Ohhhhhhhhhh.  Myyyyyyyyyy.  GAAAAAAAHH.

So now I really have something to cry about.  I felt my brain waves and heart beat in the end of my thumb and wanted to gag for at least 30 minutes.  We still headed out to eat and the margarita helped. 

But this is why I don't play any sports.  Balls hurt me.  Or do some crazy magnetic thing to my brain making my arm go in the exact opposite direction I want it to causing door frames to jump out at me.

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And if you're here because I'm on your Google Reader or you just check in now and then, I am so grateful.  I am obviously in a little funk.  It's Houston, it's hot.  I am busy but can think of nothing to write about...except anal glands and smashed thumbs, lucky for you. 

I work all day and crash at night with Harry by my side. 

Do not give up on me.

 But count me out if you need an extra player on your team.