Because it has not been a good day at work.
It started out with a text message when it was still far too dark outside-- even taking Daylight Savings Time into account-- from my boss letting me know that one of our crew got into an accident in a company vehicle which did not have an insurance card in the glove box. And so I jumped into something presentable (if only in comparison to my jammies) and hauled butt into my office where I had to admit (after an exhaustive search) that this newish truck did not appear to be insured. I do not know how I managed to transfer title and register a truck without proof of insurance--- but I am just that
And the day went downhill from there.
I wish I were one of those people who deflect blame for their mistakes but I am usually busy taking all the blame for everything. I mean, I still blame myself for my divorce and most people that know the story think that is ludicrous. And by ludicrous I mean ridiculous, not the rapper. Because I don't even know him and for sure don't think I am him. That is ridiculous.
So I spent most of the day wavering between ** self flagellation and having an inner debate about cookies.
Because about 94.75% of my brain really believes that food really will solve every problem and the reason I am so stressed out is because I haven't had chocolate in ages. Or ice cream. Ice cream works too. I wish that my brain believed that "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" but my brain thinks that is BS. Number 1: I have no idea what skinny feels like. Nor do I understand "bootilicious" or "chunky" or even 'heavy' I only know what FAT feels like and I really have nothing to compare that to. Unless you count self-loathing and guilt. Because if I balance Chocolate cake followed by a Self Loathing and Guilt chaser vs another bowl of broccoli with a side of unresolved stress.... I go with the broccoli these days. But it doesn't feel good. It feels bad. And by bad I mean crappy. And by crappy I really mean a VERY BAD WORD that I won't say in case Grandma J. is reading this.
After hours and hours of being incompetent and stressed out and fantasising about the Double D Cupcake store down the street... I finally snuck into the back storage room and sat in the dark to think about my life. Which was awesome and yet did not make me stop thinking about Costco muffins. Go figure. And because I was raised to have extremely low expectations in life I did an inventory of the likelihood that I could make enough money doing free lance accounting or being the Very Best Hamburger flipper at McDonalds or creating the world's most impressive 'Will Work For Frappacinos" panhandling sign and decided (once again) that regardless of what level of Hell I was living in right now that the grass is never ever greener on the other side. Even if I am living in the radioactive fallout of a hundred nuclear bombs it is still better than what is "Out There", Because "Out There" may be zombies or goldfish or never ending bowls of broccoli with no hope of chocolate.
And the vocabulary word of the day (just in case you weren't raised to hate yourself properly) is:
|Noun||1.||self-flagellation - self-punishment inflicted by whipping. |