Normally I hate Mondays on principle alone. First day of the week, LONG wait until the weekend, 5 full days of Al Roker and Matt Lauer, etc..
Today was a little different; today, Ciera started 5th grade. That means that one year from now I'll be walking her into middle school while shooting dirty looks at any male over the age of, oh let's just say 2. This isn't possible; I swear it was last week when I brought her home from the hospital, yet here we are on August 25th, 2008 and I'm basically screwed.
Top it off with the fact the Sox had an off day and head into hell on earth, NYC tomorrow night to start a 3 game set with the MFY and I'm beside myself.
So here I sit, watching last season's season finale of "Prison Break" while fuming about Father Time moving so freaking fast and cursing the schedule makers for this stupid off day. Don't they know I've got issues I'm having to deal with?
Tomorrow, Wake will be on the mound, Papi will be spitting in his hands and slapping his gloves together, and I'll be OK.
Or at least as OK as I ever am.