The cone of shame

Our poor baby Frank has been wearing the cone of shame for a few days now. He has a sore on his right leg from where he can't stop licking. That silly boy has actually licked through his fur straight to the skin. We've told him a million times that the only way we can remove the cone of shame is if he stops licking the wound and gives his leg a chance to heal, but that stubborn boy just can't help it!
Frank must get his stubborn-streak from his mother ( that would be me: ruthless-eyes-on-the-prize-obsessive-compulsive-mama.)
Once I get my mind and heart set on something, I don't let go until it is mine all mine. Lately, I have been wearing my own "cone of shame." I fell 5 points short of passing the bar.
That's right ruthless-eyes-on-the-prize-obsessive-compulsive-mama failed the test that would have made her dream of becoming an Esq. come true.
Like my sweet baby Frank, I too have been licking my wounds, wallowing in self-pity, getting angry at my husband every time he brings up what is now known at our house as "that damn test."The more I see Frank struggle to get through the doggie gate between our kitchen and living room(it's actually kinda cute in a really sad and funny way), the more I realize how much I am like that stubborn dog.
The more I lick my wounds, the longer it will take them to heal, and the cone of shame will forever adorn my thick head.
Well, I am licking wounds no more, I am studying- 3 hours on Saturday and Tuesdays with a group and 3 hours Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday by my lonesome. Sundays will be reserved for restoration ( church for restoration of faith, sleep for restoration of sanity and family for restoration of why I am doing this in the first place.)