True Confessions

That last round was a bit vanilla, but it's hard to confess if you're not feeling guilty about anything. Today, I'm feeling the guilt, albeit in a minor way. So:
  • It's been about two weeks since I've made it to the gym. Which is right across the street from work. I park my car outside of it.

  • The Great Deck Conversion plan was to finish laying the patio before my parents visit this weekend. Part of me hopes we don't finish it this week and that my dad, with all the patio experience, will lend a practiced hand Saturday morning (read: do most of it).

  • Foster puppy was driving me nuts this morning, getting into everything. Finally she settled down on the bed, chewing away happily. I went over to see what she had gotten into, and it was one of Monk's dress socks. I left her to it so I could get some damn peace and quiet already.

  • Day 6 to Day 7 of The Big Quit was not as successful as I’d hoped. I bummed and then smoked all the way down to their chemical-soaked filters three cigarettes, thanks to three aid-and-abettors who happened to be in the right (smoky beery) place at the right (“how the hell can I be in a BAR that is THIS SMOKY and NOT LIGHT UP?!”) time. However, am refusing to feel bad about this, as I could have bought an entire pack, smoked it, then bought more on Sunday, then realized how much I love to smoke I love to smoke I love. to. smoke and crossed back over to the dark (lung) side for many more moons. Haven’t smoked since, haven’t wanted to. Big picture, people.

  • Lately, and so frequently it’s getting disturbing, I find myself wishing I had married rich. Instead, I married kind, good-looking, creative and let’s-me-get-my-way-most-of-the-time. Instead of the Care Bear version beating the Bill Gates implication hands down, a little voice keeps whispering “sure, but you can buy warm and fuzzy.”

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