Towel Time

Note: I wrote this earlier today but was unable to publish.

Sometimes you just know that you should throw in the towel. Just call it a day and go home because you're absolutely good for nothing.

My brain has detached from its body and taken off on its own path. My body is demanding nothing but cheeseburgers, fries, and Diet Coke. Lots of Diet Coke. And my emotions have boarded a rollercoaster ride of mythic proportions. Up, down, up, down, wheeeee! Look, Ma. No hands!

I was fighting it for a while, trying to reign in my brain, feed my body carrot sticks, and convince those emotions that the Tunnel of Love might be a better ride choice.

And then I threw the dog in the dryer.

Okay, okay. Don't flip out! I wasn't mad or anything. I was just going through my daily routine of picking up and preparing to leave to get my son. And lately I've had to put the dog in her kennel when I'm out because she has become an escape artist.

I was carrying her through the kitchen and thinking of all the chores I've been ignoring, like laundry. I got to the laundry room, popped open the dryer door, and stuck her in.

Her head hadn't even cleared the opening when I realized what I was doing.

I gasped so hard I felt the rush of adrenaline to my fingers and toes. Then I apologized and snuggled her until I had to rush out.

That was my first wake up call.

After the boy and I ate our lunch of cheeseburgers, fries, and Diet Coke (lemonade for him) we returned back home. I remembered that I needed to let Buffy out. So I opened the dryer door.

Yup. Time to call it a day. I'm throwing in the towel. I need a nap. And a Midol.