Self-Diagnosis

I don't need a doctor, psychiatrist, midwife, chiropractor, or mom. I know my problem(s):

1) I'm angry, we all know that.

2) I have a teensy li'l bit of depression from time to time (though, as all those good therapists have told me - "depression is simply anger turned inward" so this can actually fit nicely under #1)

3) My hormones are out of whack. Currently, they're massively confused as to why I'm not pregnant again. This is so unlike me over the past nine years!

4) I have an addiction to reruns of "Yes, Dear." In my defense, it is laugh-out-loud funny.

5) I don't know the rules of basketball, football, Lacrosse, or Parcheesi.

6) I'm deathly afraid of leeches.

7) Chemically speaking, my body cannot survive with fewer than ninety-four thousand grams of sugar per day.

8) My knee is healed. I must hit the streets running!

9) Weekly professional massage would solve nine out of ten major problems in my life.

10) Cooking up three batches of sour cream enchiladas and Mexican rice for church families puts me dangerously close to heart attack, no matter how holy the intentions. My ministry is NOT cooking. Can't I just go scrub a new Mom's toilet? I am PHENOMENAL at cleaning. Let's just end on that as far as self-diagnoses for the night: "I am PHENOMENAL at cleaning." If only all my problems could be solved with Scrubbing Bubbles and a scouring sponge.