Monday's are hard for me.  Not just in blog world, but in the real world too.  The weekend is never long enough, I hardly ever get done what I want to get done, and I always feel obligated to start the week out on a high note.

I suppose I just need to stop having expectations of Monday's.

That would probably kill a lot of my angst about the day.

So, here I am!  L is napping (finally!) and I am sitting down to the computer to do some blog work.  I don't have much to say.  L had a good time at my parents place and I managed to get all the laundry and dishes caught up, some yard work done, and a wasp sting.

Lemme tell ya about that last one...

I was pulling out some ivy from out front sidewalk (don't ask..we don't know what the previous owner was thinking) when I saw a wasps nests buried in the middle of this bush.

I thought, "Oh hell."

I stepped back to the other side of the bush, away from the nest, and BAM!

One of them little jerks flew around behind me and got me in my left forearm!

I thought I had been shot.  (We don't live in a bad neighborhood by any means, but I am overly dramatic.  Just ask my husband.) So, when I realized what had happened, I began to panic.

My mom is HIGHLY ALLERGIC to being stung.  She had always told me to be careful because she wasn't sure if that was something that was genetic or what.

Well, here I stood, my arm throbbing and the whelp from the sting getting bigger and bigger.  I'm still panicking.  I've never been stung before.  I don't know what to do.  I text my husband and my mom and go into the house.  I thought, "Well, if I die at least I won't be next to the road."

My husband texts me back almost immediately and tells me to clean the wound and take some Benadryl.  Ha!  We don't HAVE Benadryl in the house because husband is allergic.  These days, I don't worry about myself so, therefore, we have none.

I clean the wound and decide that I haven't started having any trouble breathing, so I may be okay to drive to the Walgreen's five minutes away to get some Benadryl.

So, here I go, a hot, sweaty mess, arm throbbing, and still panicking, driving my way to Walgreen's, praying I don't pass out on the way to get some Benadryl.

At this point I'm angry.

At the wasp.
At the traffic.
At myself.

I text my husband at the next light, "Do we have any wasp and hornet killer?"

He said we did.

I responded with something along the lines of, "Good.  Because I'm going to kill every single one of those bastards if I get back home."

Husband does not respond because I am, as previously stated, a drama queen.

So, I get the Benadryl, check out, the cashier is trying to make small talk and I'm all like, "Sorry!  Can't chat!  Need to eat some Benadryl before I die!" and out the door I go to the car.

I rip the package open like I'm some kind of coke fiend and swallow a Benadryl.

I lean my head back against the seat of the car and take a huge, deep breath.   Ahh, crisis averted!  I shall live another day to be dramatic!  Just then, I look to my right and there, sitting next to my car, is some poor, old, white haired lady staring at me like I just robbed the Walgreen's.

I waved, smiled, started my car, and left.

I didn't hear anything on the news that night about a crazed lady eating Benadryl in the parking lot of a Walgreen's, so I think I'm good.