But for some reason this February has not made me as hateful and depressed as it usually does. I don't know what is different this year.
I gave up eating sugar. I am 21 days clean. Clean if you don't count that maple syrup that I eat on my pancakes once a week. And clean if you don't count milk and pretzels and hamburger buns and every other food that is essentially sugar parading as food. I'm clean in the "Public Restroom" sense of the word.
But that's 21 days of not eating a bowl of ice cream after each meal. 21 days of not having a sleeve of Oreos for a midnight snack. 21 days without Sour Patch watermelons or cinnamon hot lips or pretzel M&Ms.
Wouldn't you think that would have made February so much worse? All it has done is reminded me of how much I love grapefruit.
To me, eating grapefruit is like reading the scriptures. Every time I do it I think, "That was awesome. And good for me! Why don't I do this more often?!" And then I don't do it for a while. And then I think, "Eating grapefruit is a pain in my butt. I have to dig the segments out with a little spoon. The seeds are everywhere. I always get squirted in the eye. Instead I'll have a doughnut." And with every doughnut it becomes more and more difficult to eat grapefruit.
You see where I am going with this.
Doughnuts are delicious.
Speaking of my sister-in-law's baby shower, here we are showing off our respective bumps. Hers is from an eight-month-old fetus. Mine is from grapefruit, pancakes, and a Chipotle burrito bowl.
Can you believe how tall I am in this picture? Sometimes I forget that I am tall and then I see a picture of myself with a normal person and I start to wonder if I am, perhaps, too tall. And then I remember that I can reach whatever I want and people don't give me any crap. I like being tall.
Can you tell that I am stalling? My husband is out of town and since I can't run outside without leaving my children to their own devices, I am forced to run on the spinning hamster wheel of doom, A.K.A. the treadmill.
Treadmills are the worst. They take something that I enjoy under normal circumstances - running - and make it a completely hellish nightmare.
Say your favorite thing to do is read. Now imagine that you are in Hell and the only thing you have to read is a Crock Pot manual. And you have to read it over and over and over. That's what it is like to run on a treadmill. Like reading a Crock Pot manual in Hell.
I guess I'd better get to it. The treadmill won't run itself.
(Nope, I'm not peacing out yet because I just remembered that I need to share THIS LINK with you. It's what I wrote this week about a special ed. teacher at Snow Canyon High School who entered her students in a Samsung video contest. Out of 1500ish applicants they have made it into the final 15 and are poised to win $110,000 in grant money - given they receive enough online votes. That is where you come in. Click the link, click the link!)
(One of these times I will update you on the rest of the people I live with, but to be honest they don't do much besides ride their bikes and eat string cheese.)
(Enough stalling. To the treadmill!)
(Not you, me.)