It Isn't Pretty

I've fallen off the health food wagon. Way off. Suffice it to say: I shouldn't have given in to the guilty idea that a good daughter/sister/friend/daughter-in-law must bake Christmas cookies. And I shouldn't have bought all that chocolate. And sugar. And the ten-pound bag of flour. What was I thinking?

My apartment is so cold that I'm wearing long underwear and a thick fleece coat, and still, my nose is frozen, my feet are chilled right through my not-thin socks, and my fingers are so stiff I'm fumbling at the keyboard even when I type heated things like this: I don't like my landlord anymore. Granted, there doesn't seem to be much flame to that understatement, but it's there, believe me. It's there.

In a few minutes I'm going to the gym, and the grocery store, and work. I'm in a bad mood. I have nothing useful to say.

Maybe tomorrow.