So, I started the oven cleaning--and have recently remembered why you only clean a self-cleaning oven on days when you can OPEN YOUR WINDOWS. My life stinks today--literally. Plus, you can't just leave your oven on 900 degrees and go for pie.... (Eventually, I do start to consider fire dangerous again under the right circumstances.)
If I go take a shower and blow off cleaning and running, I can go get pie after the oven finishes and still be back in time for the kids' bus.
On the other hand, the heel of ultimate ugliness has healed and is ready for a jaunt in the running shoes. That might help get me out of this sadness "woe is me" moment.
It's not pie, though. Running is not pie... which is probably good, because pie is high in fat and no one would run if it wasn't good for you.
Oven smoke is making my eyes water... I swear... that's why I'm crying... it's not my poor crushed writer's soul.
Actually, it is the oven. Whose bright idea was this? Who lets me think on my own on a Tuesday? Someone should have put the kibash on this right away. I'm only allowed to make my own decisions on Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings. Wait... I ruined the heel on a Wednesday night. Okay. Saturday mornings. All other days, I'm giving less creatively stupid people veto power.
Eyes burning. Nose stinging. Cough. Choke. Cough. Choke. Tell the husband I love him. Cough. My last moments suck thanks to that rejection, Agent who knows who I'm talking about. Cough. Sputter. Dead.