I attended a very interesting lecture yesterday by a doctor who runs a surgical weight loss center. I’m not considering the procedure, and it wasn’t what he was talking about. He’s become vegan, and something of an evangelist for following that diet. He spoke and did a cooking demo, and while I’m not ready to go vegan, the lecture really helped reorient me to healthier eating.
I also made cookies last night, so there’s that—the constant contradiction. I rationalized that we are going to a football watching party today, but nobody asked me to make them. I ate five. I haven’t baked the rest.
If I may, can I use this space to get something off my chest? I’m not particularly organized, and my stuff makes up the majority of stuff inside our house, but I’m feeling like the only one of the two of us in this relationship who takes any responsibility for joint space within our house. At a certain point, after you’ve been living in a house for over a decade, “I don’t know where it goes” is no longer a good excuse for not putting away pots and pans after they’ve been washed and dried. Condiments don’t live in the last place you used them. I don’t need to see any of the junk mail that comes in, so please just recycle or trash it instead of leaving it on the table so that I will find five separate piles of it at week’s end—or at least make one pile of it!
Clearly, I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and need to refocus on taking responsibility for myself and my feelings. And clearly, I’m not doing the constructive thing by sharing these thoughts with the one person who could actually do something about them. I’m just afraid to, because I’m afraid he’ll then throw back in my face how out of control I’ve been about taking care of myself and my work and my things, and I don’t need any extra criticism.
Thanks for listening. I’m cleaning up the kitchen right now so that I can get it clean enough to be able to make breakfast. Onward!