or as Beck says, "DONE! DONE!"
Let my preface this post by saying yes, I know I live in New England. Yes, I know that snow is part of the deal. Yes, I know it's cold here. But that doesn't mean I have to like it!
This past week I have been endlessly stalked by an invisible football player who tackles my ass to the ground, without warning, constantly! It started several days ago while bringing a couple bags of garbage down to the end of the driveway for pick up. One second I was carefully making my way down, the next second I was layed out flat on my back, garage strewn about, wondering what the hell just happened. Not the greatest way to start the day.
The following day I went out for a little horseback ride. My horse has studded winter shoes on and we took it easy. That was fine and good, until I dismounted, and discovered my riding boots lacked any kind of traction. Again I found myself instantly starring up at the sky and wondering how I got there. So I make it back to my feet and start a granny-like, march of the penguins walk back to the barn. I made it about 5 feet before ass met frozen Earth again. Now I'm getting pissed. Time to lead my horse back to the barn and get these friggin' boots... WOOP! On my arse again with a 1000 pound horse standing over me, looking at me like, "what's your problem, bi-ped?". At this point I want to cry.
Flash forward to the next day. I'm working in the barn and I hear Morgan cry, so instinctively I run down the barn hallway. Mind you, the hallway is covered with rubber mat. Smooth. Rubber. Mat. Yup, just as I hit the end of the barn both feet fly up (and I swear, over my head, in cartoon-style) and I land with the step across my lower back. I'm sure something is broken, maybe everything, and I begin to plot my decision to just pack my stuff and get on the very next plane heading to any warmer climate!
Seriously, enough already!