The Curse of Never Being Satisfied

Halloween is upon us in just one short day.  I am proud to say that I have purchased no Halloween candy, and have not eaten any Halloween candy, other than one Reese’s PB cup that called my name for days until I gave in.  Candy isn’t really my downfall.  My downfall is biscuits and gravy, cheeseburgers, and anything with cheese.

My Weight Watchers weigh-in is tomorrow and I am interested, but not excited.  I am assuming that these steroids are what is making me feel starved all of the time.  I was just reviewing my progress for the week and, Monday thru Thursday I was super-good.  Friday and Saturday were not so good.  This is how it usually trends.  I think that if I can stay away from beer today and not give into this killer urge to get a DQ Pumpkin Pie Blizzard, then tomorrow will be just fine.  And if not, weight is just a number.  I feel thinner, people are commenting about my weight loss, and my clothes are looser.

So, the title of today’s blog, “The Curse of Never Being Satisfied.”  When I sit down to blog, I have all of these ideas running through my head of what I want to write about.  I’m not an organized blogger, where each post is about one topic.  It’s more of a mish-mash and that’s just how I write.  Words come from my fingers almost faster than I can get them out of my head.  I have the tendency to set my title before I type my blog, so sometimes they don’t match.  I rarely go back and change the titles.

I went to my step-sister’s house today to see my niece and check out her new digs.  It’s a tiny house, but she has it decorated very nicely and, while it is not my style, it is very homey.  She has even decorated for fall, complete with hay bales, pumpkins, scarecrows, and the like.  When I went to her house, I felt jealous that she had everything “just-so” and I still don’t have any pictures hung up.  It was kind of depressing.  I even heard these little whispers that told me that my house didn’t measure up.

Then I came home, and that is SO not true.  My house is way cuter, much bigger, has a better layout, and is super-spacious in comparison.  It just isn’t decorated to the 9’s.  It has great light in every room, and I have a lot of nice antique furniture.  The wall colors are all picked out by me, and I feel at home in every single room.  This is the perfect house for me, on the perfect plot of land, and I really wouldn’t have it any other way.  I will get it all decorated eventually, and until then, it still rocks.

Funny how our mind can trick us.  Just yesterday I felt so good about getting my few “big” purchases made for the weekend (gas, dog food, cigs) and didn’t think I needed another thing.  Today, I feel like I need to go to Walmart and buy a tea kettle because a cup in the microwave just isn’t good enough.  I get silly with money like that, and it is sometimes all I can do not to just spend spend spend.  So, I am not going to any stores today.

I looked at recipes today, thinking that I would really like to do some cooking.  But why would I do that?  I have dinner in the freezer, more QoB leftovers, good as the day they came off the stove.  I have some things I could make out of the groceries I already have, but nothing sounds good, except for ham and beans and cornbread, which I will likely have tomorrow when QoB returns from the lake. Eating leftovers saves me money, saves QoB from throwing out huge quantities of food, and I don’t have to cook (which I love and hate, at the same time).  I think I would feel better about it right now if I had been helping her more lately, but deep inside my brain I know the reason for not helping much has been that I have been sick.  I’m tired of being sick, have I mentioned?

In fact, I’m so tired of it, that I have decided at this very minute, that I am no longer sick.  I’m just done.  I will stifle every cough and sniffle, ignore every headache.  I will not complain anymore.  That’s my new goal for the week.  Acting as if I am well, will make me well.  Put that in your pipe and smoke it, nasty illness.  Just go the eff away.

Sheryl Crow, I Can’t Cry Anymore