CAN SOMEBODY CALL THE WHAAMBULANCE?

It all started when I woke up late. The night before, I set my alarm in a tired haze for the time I was supposed to meet my friend, Claire, to go running instead of allotting myself fifteen minutes to get ready and get there. So of course, I'm hustling my buns and after I brush my teeth, I pop my contact on my finger only to realize I still had some toothpaste there that got on my contact. That doesn't feel good. And I didn't have time to mess with such nonsense, so I thought to myself glasses it is. However, as I'm driving there, I'm thinking how much I hate how my glasses bob up and down on my nose while I'm running, so I thought that I'd do without the glasses completely. I mean, how bad could it be, right? It's not like I'm driving or need to see what my kids are doing. I can just calmly jog along side of Claire (who will tell me if I'm about to hit something) and enjoy the early morning ambiance made from the cool breeze and the amazing firework-like images only a combination hideous vision and head lights can provide. No problem.

As we get going, I find it's already proving to be harder than I thought to run without my glasses. Claire keeps getting cornered as I keep insisting we should turn at the end of each block because since I can't see what's at the end of the street, I just figure there isn't one. Thus, we should turn. At this point in our run we're cutting through a parking lot. I notice a little downward slope and grateful to be getting any help from gravity that I can, I slightly increase my speed. I believe, I was thinking something along the lines as ooooh, a little hill! Well, every hill has a bottom and at the bottom of this one was a gutter, to which I rolled my ankle, heard some funky tearing sound, rolled like a tumbleweed and laid there on my back holding my weak, noise-making ankle as I kept yelling/crying over and over, "Oh, it hurts, oh it's bad. Oh, it hurts, oh, it's bad." Claire patiently sat there with comforting comments as I told her to give me a minute to bawl. Which, I did. After that, I managed to stand up and to my utter relief a lot of the pain from the initial...roll, had subsided. Needless, to say that was the end of our run for the day. I know, I know, always trying to think of something to end the workout a little short.

I got home and reluctantly took off my shoe to watch my ankle slowly swell to the size of a golf ball. With Phil busy as a bee, I had no choice but to figure out mommyhood with a sprained ankle. It wasn't too bad. I found a way to gently walk on my foot without it hurting and managed quite nicely--until...

Ryder flooded the toilet.

I had actually just put him down for a nap and was fifteen minutes away from putting Penny down for hers. Finally, a nice solid break to elevate my foot. I go into the bathroom and notice an ample amount of TP in the toilet bowl. Knowing Phil is a stickler when it comes to wasting toilet paper, I knew it could have only been one other person. Not certain if it would clog the toilet or not, I thought I would give it a little flush. ~Sigh~ To make a long story short. It was clogged and (according to what my dad tells me) the flapper didn't close down, so not only did it overflow-but it kept running. And running.  Oh, but I fixed it. After exhausting every possible option, I finally got one of the many ways to stop an overflowing toilet to work.

And to top everything off. I had to get a root canal today. I mean, I'm not the type of person to have anxiety attacks or anything over going to the dentist, but I do hate it enough that I have a pit in my stomach for the two days leading up to the procedure.

So here I sit, with a fat face and a fat ankle and right after I have some cheese to go with my whine, I'd like to issue the following statements:

1. I apologize to Claire for having to watch me dramatically, writhe in pain atop the cold black asphalt at 6:30 in the morning.
2. I'd like to thank Claire, for making me promise to never run without my glasses or contacts again.
3. I'd like to thank the towels, for being great in number and nearby.
4. And, yes, I'd like to thank Ryder, for only filling the toilet with TP and nothing else.
5. I apologize to my Phil and my dad for the voice mails of me freaking out over my toilet flooding and me mumbling in, again, a dramatic manner, over and over. "I just don't know what to do." (That wouldn't have had to happen if one of you would have answered your phone--just sayin')
6. And well, Mr. Endodontist, even though I'm very grateful none of those hair-like files you used broke off in my tooth, I think you should be grateful to me too because with you, I was actually quite brave.