I had a softball game this morning. Yep, with the crappy-ass, never playing me, awful jersey buying softball team I play on. It was the dreaded 10 o'clock game, a game time with which I usually have a problem rallying for even on the best of mornings. This was not the best of mornings, and no not because I was out drinking last night, more like up all night with insomnia.

I wanted to play, really I did- it's not like I have that much going on this weekend, more like nothing going on this weekend- but as I was lying in bed, recovering from a one or two hour at the most sleep, reading "Seabiscuit" and watching the all exciting CNN/People Magazine hour-long look at "Friends" I just couldn’t get motivated to play. Why should I schlep on down there, after all? We're going to lose, I'm going to sit on the bench, and they'll have more than enough guys to play. So, I gave them my word and said I'd be there. So I have nothing else to do today and it is a beautiful day for softball. But damnit, I'm cozy in my bed and I like it that way. They won't need me.

So I didn't go.

Game time comes and as I'm getting that "hmm, maybe you should have gotten your ass out of bed" feeling, I get a message on my phone. It's from one of the captain's of my team all panicky and wondering where I was. Not only did they not have enough guys, they didn't have people period. All of which meant that I would have played the entire game, probably in the position I want to play, but my flaking probably made the team lose by default even before the game began.

Oy, the guilt.