1. In my bedroom, I have a stack of clothing that I can no longer wear. The reason I can no longer wear them is well-known to you at this point. Yesterday I needed a bit of motivation and decided it was time to see how far I’d come. I’ve come a long way, baby! Sure, I have farther to go, but I’m motivated. For now.
2. At this point, I have a few options for the stack, which measures about 4 feet in height and has been relegated to the corner like a naughty child in the Victorian educational system:
A. Create a Dunce cap, set it on top, and walk by the stack and taunt it once or forty times per day.
B. Put the clothing into a large, metal can and have a burning ceremony. You know? Like you burn stuff from an old relationship gone bad.
C. Try on the clothes and watch as they fall of of me every day for motivation.
3. I’m leaning toward ‘A’. I’m real mature like that.
4. Do not call/Facebook/text/otherwise contact me and tell me to give them to the Goodwill/Salvation Army/whatever. Of course, these clothes will have a good home. In fact, one’s already been assigned to them, and they’re going there. Just as soon as I’m done taunting them. Amen.
5. What’s left in my closet isn’t much. What that means, in layman’s terms, is that I’m gonna need an advance on my clothing allowance, Big Daddy. Hello? Big Daddy? *Tap, tap.* Is this thing on?
6. One of these books has been replaced by the other on my cookbook shelf.
This shift is symbolic of my life at this point.
7. What that means for you is that, rather than getting recipes here for Peanut Butter Cake and Vanishing Oatmeal Raisin Cookie Bars, you’ll be learning how to make hummus, to be eaten with carrot sticks.
8. I apologize in advance. I’ll try to give you just the stuff that we’ve eaten that didn’t make us gag.
9. I’ll try and sneak the good stuff to you when I make something to send to The Boys. The Boys don’t ‘do’ hummus.
10. The Diva, who, as it turns out, doesn’t ‘do’ hummus either, is volunteering at the local veteranarian’s office today. See, she’s decided that, when she grows up, she wants to be a vet. So, I gave doc a call and asked if she could help him out a bit. Today she’s seeing patients and doing surgery. Well, she’s probably not doing the surgery. But she’s right there in the thick of it.
11. When she comes home, I figure she’ll have made an official decision: either she’ll be pursuing a career in veterinary medicine, or, deciding that’s not for her, will go with gusto after her back-up career choice, a princess.
12. Having met with the kind and gracious man who will be overseeing my dissertation, I have finally narrowed down a topic in which we both have an interest and one that won’t make me fall asleep just thinking about it. For the next year or so of my life, I’ll be hip-deep in research.
13. I apologize in advance. To myself.
Over and out,