Verifying I'm the One Who Needs Therapy

I am so sore today. I never would have guessed I would feel like this. I don't remember being so sore after running any other time, but damn, I'm sore this time. My legs are killing me, and even my back has just a hint of ache to it. Just getting up from the chair is a chore. My legs tell me, "No, I'm not moving," but I make them move anyway, and they make me pay for it. Ow. Every time I stand up. Ow. Every time I walk. Ow. Every time I move a leg. Ow. Ow, ow, ow.

Now that I've established I'm very, very sore, I shall whine about all my chores for the day. Somehow all that laundry I did on Friday didn't stay done. I still wonder how a family of four could generate enough laundry to clothe a small country, but we do. And I have to wash the stuff. So that means I get to go up and down the stairs today with my achy legs. I can only pray that they don't give up on me and collapse, causing me to fall down the stairs, break my neck and die.

I can't die, because I have to help at Booie's Brownie meeting today. I made scrapbooks out of construction paper and yarn. I'm in the process of making Rice Krispie Treats, and I bought juice. I have too much invested in this meeting to die before it. I must live until after the Brownie meeting, then my legs can fail and kill me.

What may kill me before laundry though is finding Booie's Brownie vest. It seems to have disappeared. I looked all over for it this morning to no avail. The last I remember seeing it, she wore it to sell cookies and left it in the car. I told her to get it, and it wasn't in the truck after that, but I don't know where it ended up. Now it is my job to find the stupid thing. That will mean lots of kneeling and digging and walking, which my legs surely will not appreciate.

If I manage to do all those things without killing myself in the process, I will surely have trouble when Hammy gets home, and I attempt to chain him in his room. He's back on another downswing in behavior, and I'm thinking a doctor's visit might be in order. He may very well drive me insane, then I wouldn't have to worry about whether I'm dead or not, because I'd be too crazy to care. And people tell me girls are worse. God help me.

Assuming I make it to 6 o'clock, there's counseling, but it doesn't look like John and I will both be able to go. We don't have a sitter, and I doubt I can find one on such short notice. We ruled out some of our sitter options last night, because it would give Hammy way too much fun in the midst of his punishment. I think reigning is bad attitude (and then some) in is much more important than having both John and me at counseling, so it's going to be another individual night for one of us. We haven't decided who will go. I'm waffling, which probably comes as no surprise. I think it would be best to go together, but since that's not likely, I don't know what to do.

I wonder if I'd be happy if I went to live in a cave. I can't dream about that now though. I have stuff to do and death to avoid.