Pecked To Death By Ducks

Pam: I’ve sure had a Monday today. I feel really cruddy but unfortunately not quite cruddy enough.

Ann: I don’t get it. Are you sick? Why would you want to feel worse?

Pam: I’m not officially sick. I just have a serious case of the blahs. So I went to work but spent the whole day wishing I was at home.

Ann: Why didn’t you just take a mental health day and call in sick anyway? That’s what most people do.

Pam: If I stayed home every time I needed a mental health day I’d be a no-show at work most of the time. Besides, I’ve penciled in my nervous breakdown for the middle of next month.

Ann: Wow. It must be nice to be so organized.

Pam: Hey, just because I’m teetering on the edge doesn’t mean I have to give up on organization and structure.

Ann: Yeah, but if you had real confidence in your schedule, you’d have used ink.

But that teetering, I think it feels worse than being totally whacked out. It’s like when you’re really upset and you’re holding back the tears. That horrendous lump is worse than just letting go and sobbing.

Pam: Yeah, and don’t you think waiting for bad news is a lot harder than actually getting it? At least when your fears are confirmed you can adjust. You figure out how you feel about it and start to work towards getting back to normal. But that free fall of not knowing is the worst!

Ann: I don’t know if this is actually true but, I read that if a cat falls off the seventh floor of a building it has a lot less chance of surviving than if it falls off the twentieth floor. It supposedly takes about eight floors for it to realize that it’s falling and correct itself so it’ll land on its feet.

Pam: I guess that could be true. But how on earth did they figure that out? I’m picturing a bunch of white coats with clipboards tossing cats out of windows just to bring us that little nugget of information.

But seriously, I think I’m like those cats. The twenty-floor drop problems, I can handle. But when it comes to the little stuff, I usually find myself suddenly kissing concrete.

Ann: I definitely handle life’s big challenges better than I do the little ones. Losing a job, my youngest leaving for college, health scares…I can steel myself and handle those. But I swear the damn moths that have been chewing holes in my sweaters have me at my wit’s end.

Pam: My grandfather used to say it was like being pecked to death by ducks. Unfortunate-ly he used the expression before I was old enough to understand metaphors and it made me terrified of ducks. Even worse, my bedroom at the time was decorated with a yellow ducky theme. I didn’t sleep for three years!

Ann: At least you’re laughing now.

Pam: I may be laughing but I still feel cruddy.

Ann: Well, maybe you could volunteer to be the test dummy for those cat tossing scientists if they decide to repeat the study on humans.

Pam: Or slather myself in peanut butter, roll around in a pile of croutons, go to the duck pond, and lie down with my arms crossed reverently over my chest.