This Is I

I am working on a big project right now, a project that may kill me because (a) I do not have the autonomy I normally have in working on similar projects, and (b) while I'm usually near the top of the grammar-centric food chain on this type of project now there are many, many larger grammar-fish circling the water above me and each of those fish has an opinion that differs from mine, and (c) I signed a confidentiality agreement about the project so I can't even gripe about it. (At least not here; Husband may have heard a discouraging word or two.)

To take my mind off the project, I have now watched this YouTube video three times, because those dogs? I've never related more strongly to creatures on the internet. I cannot catch anything thrown at me. Not with my bare hand, not with a baseball mitt, not with my mouth (assuming the thrown object is edible).

Oh, I have plenty of want-to. If someone throws a baseball to me I watch it into my hand, right up until the point when it's a foot from my hand and I close my eyes so it won't hit my face, and then it's hitting my knuckles and bouncing away. Or I stubbornly keep my eyes open and stare at the ball as my catching hand flaps aimlessly out to the side.

These dogs are my spirit animals. And I almost said "They are me," but because this large project has fried my brain and crushed my spirit, I can't even be folksy enough to write that warm but incorrect phrase.

Someone, please. Put me out of my misery. Throw me a baseball.