It's been one of those weeks that's kind of like a mean bully kid in the lunch line in 2nd grade, and he keeps throwing thumb tacks at you that he harvested off the bulletin board in the hallway, and every day it's like you get a couple of tacks in the back of your neck, and it hurts, but you know it's for just a few minutes a day. And then on Friday, you're standing there daydreaming in the lunch line because that kid had to use the bathroom, so he's not behind you, and you're feeling good because you just made an 85 on your spelling test and it's Friday and you're going to go home and watch Scooby Doo reruns with your sister. And then you get hit by a basketball, like really hard. So you lie on the floor and moan a little and wish someone would turn that light out. September of 1985, Alps Road Elementary.
That's the kind of week I've had. Our house didn't burn down and I didn't break my leg in yoga, and nobody got shot in the face with bird shot, but it was a bunch of little thumbtacks and one big, crappy basketball.
And maybe another time I'll tell you what happened MLK JR Day, 1998. That really was the worst.