(Sunday shoes abandoned Sunday night, still there on Monday morning)

This morning I went to pick up some quilts that my lovely and talented Aunt Tori had finished quilting.

I got a flat tire on the way.

Which made me cry for a bit. Because I am worn out.

On Thursday my sister had warned me that it looked low.

On Friday Caleb's scoutmaster told me I needed to put air in my tire.

But I was busy, see?

So this morning I was stuck in the parking lot of a JB's restaurant (there is no sadder place) for nearly an hour with a flat tire.

An old man with a walker asked me if I needed help. Which made me cry a bit harder.

The lady (oh the shame!) from AAA who came to help me saw where the tire had worn through and said, "You must have driven on that too low for some time."

Indeed.

But I was busy, see?

And this morning, after a week spent at break-neck speeds and a weekend of ward parties and Sunday school lessons and firesides, all given by yours truly, I feel just like my tire.

Flat.

Popped. Pooped.

Gone as far as I can go.

I have been going on too low for too long.

And now I'm going to sit here for a while.

Woe is me.