The hard way

It's not that I like doing things the hard way--it's just that I always do. I've read that our attitudes determine our fate. Our thoughts make us who we are. Well, I don't remember sitting down one day to think: "I want to be racked with pain every day" Or "I wish my husband were a workaholic." Or "Man, it would be nice if mice took over my house." Yet, these things seemed to materialize in my life.

The mice. Oh, the mice. Cute little white footed, mice. I find it odd that these creatures, who spend the majority of their time ferreting out any morsel of food and any makeshift shelter, can not be content to live in a large, plastic aquarium, with three square meals a day--wih such delicacies as apples smeared with peanut butter, and 12 grain bread.

But, alas--they are not. From day one, when I caught the first of the tribe, they have waged rodent war against me. I would like to go into detail, but, I am afraid my tendons are hurting too much. Perhaps tomarrow. At the risk of being crude--Fibromyalgia sucks.