Popcorn! Peanuts! Git cher ice cold Beeyah!

Woke up at 3:16 this morning.

Strike one.

Went right back to sleep after a little biobreak.

Ball one.

Woke up, and didn’t jog, but instead spent some high-quailty one-on-one time with the LOML.

Ball two.

Waited too long to take a shower to get ready to go to the dentist and thus skipped 1) makeup and 2) combing my wet hair and THEN got stuck in traffic and was 10 minutes late to my appoinkment.

Strike two.

At the dentist, the re-filling of my previous filling was FREE, because it really shouldn’t have come out after only a month of being in (but hey, maybe I just have really bad breath and it made a run for it ASAP, who knows?).

Ball three.

Oh noes! It’s a full count, folks! What’ll it be next? Is she gettin’ on base, or is she walking bedraggledly back to the dugout after taking a ferocious but misplaced whiff at the speeding ball of life?

Tiff steps up to the plate, the pitcher winds up, and lets one go. It's a fastball, ladies and gentlemen! Tiff leans back, plants her feet, and swings with all her might – what’ll it be???

Holy Moly! I came into work!

Now, this COULD be a strike, because.... work? It is the suck lately (thus my absence from the intertubez for a while), and it's also honest-to-gawd stee-RYKE material if you’re built to regard a well-paying nicely-benefitted cush job that has occasional bursts of “holy shit I’m in over my head” all while toiling in an air-conditioned building as a bad thing, but really? No.

Friends, it’s totally ball four, and I’m trotting toward first.

Attitude, adjusted.