Robyn’s Nest

Aaaarrrggghhh. That’s what I feel like today. I’m pretty fed up. I kinda feel like I’ve got all this frustration building up that I can’t get rid of. And if I don’t get rid of it I might just explode.

Now what I don’t want to happen is for me to snap at someone unecessarily at work, shout at a friend over the phone, or drive my car into a lake. What I need to do - and which solve the problem completely - is play sport. BUT. I. CAN’T.

My damn ankle injury, although really not that serious considering (no fracture by the way, hoorah) is seriously limiting my fun. Already I’ve missed three volleyball games and two training sessions, plus two rounds of korfball, and I feel like I want to kill someone.

The other day one of my buddies said - and this wins quote of the week for me as she said it with such conviction: “I’ve had such a bad day I really feel like being violent to someone.” I’m glad I was talking to her on the phone!

Anyway, usually my aggressions are taken out on the volleyball court and I’ve realised how much I miss playing. Not just ‘cos you get to run around and get sweaty with your mates - no boys, we do NOT play in bikinis - but because it’s good for fitness and for getting rid of all your frustrations.

I can’t think of a substitute sport which won’t involve my ankle and to ease my misery I’m shovelling down food as if the shops will stop selling it tomorrow. I know it’s totally unreasonable and overdramatic but I feel like a bit of a beached whale, destined to watch my athletic friends from the sidelines and spend the rest of my walking life in flat shoes. Insert violin music here.

Yes, I know I’ve mentioned the flat shoes way too many times but it’s peeing me off. I tried my ball dress on last night with flatties and I look like a complete plum. I know there is no solution - I cannot wear heels, mr physio says so - and this just fuels my increasing frustration.

Deep breaths… out with anger… in with love. There that’s better. NOT.

It’s volleyball time on Sunday and my whole “sofa too big for the bloody door” incident has hopefully fuelled me with enough aggression to play an explosive game on court.

Watch out Oxford and Bristol -you’re going to feel my wrath.  I couldn’t smack seven shades of shite out of the delivery men who “failed to deliver” but I can take out my frustration, disappointment and beanbag fury on the volleyball. Go Leicester!