Oh dear, the creeping crud has come upon me. I am miserable. I laid in bed, I took my tylenol, I've been drinking tea. I am still in pain. Throat and nose congested. It is not the worst thing, for sure, but it surely is a miserable cantankerous situation, when I am sick in this house. It is almost as bad as when I rent the rug doctor.
Get out of my way, I bellow. Mom's on the warpath, the children know and they duck. When they see that look of determination in my eyes, they know that the overhead is coming down upon them and they duck.
I have taken my children out to the tennis courts so that I can show them that part of my personality. I don't even have to talk when that face comes upon me. They all go, uh-oh. I rarely throw something directly at them, but they know that I want to. The drooling lust for the perfectly placed overhead to go in the court, is directed anger or passion or greed.
You don't even have to be in the lead, there is a separate lust for winning. But, just when the ball is lofty and softly coming down and you know that your grip is just right and your shoulder is itching to kill that ball. Pow! What a thrilling moment!
I want to kill these germs that are annoying me. Dreaming about the perfect lob to send into the fence is enough to comfort me and keep me from knocking these annoying children into next Tuesday. Thanks for the tools to redirect anger, from myself and others to the problem. Today the problem is these stupid germs!