This blog's normal posting is being interrupted by a moment of self-pity. That's OK, right ... every once in a while ... especially when it's done for the sake of relatability and humor?!
Recently, I was thinking how thankful I was that my family and I hadn't been overtaken, throughout the winter, by the horrid outbreaks of the creepy crud that seemed to be infesting the majority of other households. Note: I said 'thankful' ... not 'cocky' about our healthfulness.
Soon thereafter, however, my hubby came down with the aforementioned creepy crud. I remained strong ... deflecting germs, disinfecting like a maniac, and reveling in the fact that I was not going to be overtaken. My body, however, apparently interpreted my thankfulness and strong will as 'cockiness' and decided to teach me a lesson. With impressive lightening speed, my head, sinuses, throat, lungs, and stomach revolted against me. I'm still not sure what I did to warrant such a retort.
Despite no voice, a pounding headache, and the feeling that I was living in a thick fog, life went on. I felt like curling up under a big blanket and watching movies, BUT appointments needed to be kept, tasks needed to be completed, work needed to be done, kids needed to be cared for. And, thanks to the rotating schedule of dear friends, Advil and Tylenol, it has all been getting done ... somewhat effectively.
Today, after dropping the kids off at school and daycare, making it through a somewhat wimpy version of my normal workout during which even my teeth hurt, and purchasing my dear, sweet Starbucks mocha, I headed home to start working.
I sat down at my desk and grabbed one little, teeny sheet of paper out of the file organizer sitting on my desk, which succeeded in throwing the entire organizer off balance. It toppled over, onto my mocha, which promptly sent extra-hot liquid shooting in various directions across the room.
Before I could even respond to what was happening (please see 'living in a thick fog' statement above) by lifting the organizer and setting my cup upright, I had decaf, grande, single ristretto, 5-pump chocolate, non-fat, no-whip mocha dripping from my desk onto my keyboard, down my favorite workout jacket, in my lap soaking through to my undergarments, on my office chair ... and, to top it off, there was a lovely path of mocha splattered from my desk all the way to the office door.
And that, my friends, is when the tears started rolling ... the ones that you get when you don't feel good and simply can't handle one more thing (and there are no witnesses around to hold it against you! :-)).
No worries ... after stain-removal of the desk, office chair, keyboard, carpet, and clothing (yes, it did all come out, thank goodness!), I took a shower to rid myself of the residual mocha and drank the meager 4 ounces remaining in my cup ... and felt much better. And, now I can say that I have, indeed, cried over spilled milk (albeit the kind enhanced by a little bit of coffee and a lot of chocolate).