I just want to sit here and smell it…
Mayo Clinic Diet called on account of illness. Mostly because I ran out of food last night and I had the ingredients for waffles. And Nutella to put on them. I don’t even feel a little bad because I’ll need the strength to write my own eulogy.
(This dramatic post brought to you by someone who is sick and alone with a really messy apartment who has no lesson plans for summer school, which starts in three days.)
Yesterday was a big fail. I blame the farmers market. I think I properly punished myself with exercises I severely dislike (treadmill and backbends). Back on the horse today.
A little coffee (half a serving of dairy, no sugar, in one of my favorite cups) and some journaling on my new chaise lounge. Maybe starting the Mayo Clinic Diet on the same day I start a masters program wasn’t the most brilliant idea. Planning to get two topics done in one class, type up some meal plans to hang on the wall, and do some curriculum mapping.
I’m starting to clean out my cupboards. Good-bye, five bags of Trader Joe’s peanut butter-filled pretzels that I bought to fill the void in my tummy.
(Don’t worry: you’re just going in a box in the deepest, darkest corner of my closet. I will see you again soon.)
I have to give you up in two weeks. I really don’t want to do this. Yes, you’re in chocolate, and I have a lot of chocolate left over from Teacher Appreciation Week, but I can deal with that. You know what’s going to be so hard? Giving up my morning coffee. Just a teaspoon of you makes things so much better.
I’d like to say “it’s not you, it’s me,” except everyone tells me it is you. They also say that after two weeks I won’t even miss you.
Here’s the thing.
I don’t want to not miss you. I want to spend the rest of our lives together. I want us to grow old together. I want us to look back on all the good times we’ve had, and there have been some great ones.
Maybe this break will be good for both of us. We can reevaluate what we want from our lives, maybe make our lives better. Until then, farewell.
(This overly dramatic post brought to you by every cliche in the book.)