Put a knife in me. I'm done.

Being in a hurry ALL the time, makes you vulnerable to injury.  Listen to this old sage, Grasshoppers.  I managed to twist my ankle last Thursday night, racing around trying to get everything done because I'd gone and allowed myself to HAVE FUN.  That will show me.  I had a friend over for dinner and it was a thoroughly enjoyable evening.  The trade-off, however, was that I didn't get to finish all the chores, so was rushing around in the inky darkness and missed a hole.  Actually, I didn't miss it and therein lies the problem.

That put me lame-ish for Friday chores, so I decided to use a personal day to ease up on the ankle.  Is anyone surprised to know that it didn't work?  I know that most of you can relate to this:  sitting inside, reading a book, trying not to feel guilt-ridden while you look outside and see all the things that should be getting done.  Finally, I couldn't stand it and tackled some small jobs.  Luckily, Friday night was Girls' Nite and I was engulfed in conversation, good food and some deadly Apple Pie Moonshine.  Suffice to say, Saturday morning was a little blurred from the get-go.  I had to take Miss Bernice for a shampoo and set :) and was to meet M to pick up pork.  In my logical brain - which is actually an oxymoron, since logic really has nothing to do with how I live most of the time - I would bring B in, wait until she was washed and dried, then meet M and go home to clean before my parents arrived for their overnighter.  What actually happened was that I had to drop B off, then kill three hours.  This is not usually a problem if I plan for it.  But when I all of a sudden get a three hour gap in my plan, I fall apart.  Instead of making the most of the time, I drove to a little riverside park near a covered bridge and drank a cup of coffee while listening to Car Talk.  Fielding several suspicious looks from passersby.

Ripped home with B, pork and unplanned grocery purchases just in time to rip out again to store some of the pork in a neighbor's freezer, rip home and clean and....my parents arrived.  That means everything stops.  Which it did, except for my mind which was still racing along.  Then we picked up the same neighbor and drove to dinner - a payback from my parents to this neighbor who has done them many kindnesses.  Back home to do chores in the near-dark and find a turkey on top of the shed.  NO!  I had to hunt down my clothesline prop pole and herd him off the roof into the yard, then get them headed in the right direction and into the coop.

Sunday morning was another land speed record of talking to my parents, checking my watch (which I had remembered to dial back - stoopid time change), then gather them up and rip off to the firehouse breakfast.  This is a once-a-month event known not for its food, but for its people watching.  We met another two of my friends there, who more than entertained my parents and most of the nearby tables.  And, seeing that it was the beginning of an election week, we played "Spot the Politician".  Then we sauntered back to the LLF where my dad swept off both decks and I started dinner prep.  Their best friends, who are also my neighbors, were coming for an early dinner.  Then everybody left.

Thanks to the stoopid time change, I did not sleep most of the night.  I don't have trouble with springing forward, but falling back throws me for a loop.  I dragged myself out of bed at 1:30A and called it a night.  All that ripping around had not helped the ankle, so I just decided to take another personal day.  This time I limited myself and only did some very small things, including repairing my deck railing bird feeder.  The dogs were thrilled that I had been home four days in a row.  I went to bed nice and early, and woke up Tuesday morning to find that Bernice had gone from bouncy puppy to near death.  Again.  I was opening the vet's office with his staff that morning and we ran more tests this time.  And this time we found the cause of this overnight sensation.  A high fever and a baseball-sized tumor on her spleen.  Poor kid.  So we are back to two doses of penicillin a day, cajoling her into eating (two cans of Fancy Feast consumed this morning) and slowly nursing her back to health.  The good news is, it's her spleen - which can be removed.  The bad news is, it's her spleen - which could rupture and cause internal bleeding. 

I was thinking this morning, "thank goodness this awful year is almost over."  Then I had an eerie recollection of saying the same thing last year.......dum-de-dum-dum.