My scale- R.I.P

My scale is dead...or dying at least. It used to, as scales are meant to do, give you a read out of three digital numbers when you stood on it. Now, it blinks a cryptic message, SAEE, and then fades to blackness. I am puzzled as to what SAEE means: Sorry Already Eager Ectomorph? Shouldn't All Elephants Eat? Somewhat Angry Electronic Enemy? It is a mystery to me. I think it might be some sort of cry for help, but I'm afraid we are going to have to put it down and get a new one.

The last time I weighed myself on this scale was just over a month ago, just before I instructed the mister to hide it from my for a month. I was/am a compulsive weigher. I would weigh myself every single time I went into the bathroom. Getting a kleenex- step on the scale. Combing my hair-step on the scale. Actually *going to the bathroom* required two weigh ins, one for before and one for after. I realize that this is not exactly healthy behavior, especially the extend to which a "good" number versus a "bad" number impacted my mood, but it was such a habit that it was hard to imagine not knowing, in some immediate sense, what my exact weight was. So, when I decided to do a scale fast for a month, I knew the scale had to be hidden.

The scale free month went by pretty quickly and though I was tempted to weigh myself at the gym a couple of times and did, on occasion, try to snoop around the house to find the scale, I stayed scale free the whole time. It feels odd to me, not knowing right now, this very second what my weight is. I don't like it, though I can appreciate that I was less moody about weight stuff this month.

Now, the month is up and I want to know. I want my digits. I have lots of weird rules about weight (the scale at home is the only scale that counts, the weight in the morning is the official weight of the day and is the only one that counts, weights achieved after horrific bouts of food poisoning are nice, but don't count) and I have to have a home scale to follow the rules.

I know that I shouldn't be so obsessed about three (not so little) numbers. I know that eating well is more important, that fitness is more important, that how your clothes fit is more important but I don't care. I like/need/want the tangible, recordable, objective scale numbers. They feel real and measurable and, most importantly, controllable in a way that "how your clothes fit" just doesn't.

So, a trip to Target is in my future I think. I am going to try to avoid being the saddest person ever so I vow not to buy half price Halloween candy and the scale at the same time.

Time

So, I blinked and suddenly it was the end of October. How did that happen?

When I was a younger monkey I would get bored so easily (especially during the endless summer vacations) and I would complain that the days were too long and everything took so long to happen. My mother, annoyed, would warn me that time would speed up when I wasn't looking. I am so annoyed to report that she, in the one particular instance, was right.

As I get older the speed of time seems to have shifted. When I was in high school, time was measured in hours (one more hour until lunch, one more hour until Spanish is over, one more hour of swim practice) but now days blur into weeks and weeks slide into months and months fly into years. I'm a bit worried that the next time I post to my blog I'll being doing it from some sort of retirement community for active seniors. I will, most likely, just be squeezing in the time to blog in between my Sit and Be Fit classes and watching my stories on television.

While I can still type, before the old age induced arthritis sets in, allow me to update you on the happenings of the last week:

1. I completed the first stage of my seasonal worker indoctrination. Through the power of video (5 hours worth!) I learned that "customer service is a journey", "customer service is a process", "customer service starts with a smile", "customer services is all about attitude" and "without you, customer service doesn't exist". I did not, in the course of my training, learn how to work the cash register, how to stock the shelves, where the bathroom is, how to do a price check, or how to do gift wrapping. Apparently customer service doesn't involve having any discernible skills or the training necessary to actually, you know, help the customer buy the lotion they can't live without. I do know, however, that I should smile when I tell them that I can't make change, ring them up, get something from backstock or wrap their gift box for them.

2. The second draft of the thesis (New and Improved! Now with 15% more lit review than before!) has been turned into the advisor who seems pretty certain that this draft should be good enough to forward on to the rest of the committee. I am cautiously optimistic that I may finish this damn thing yet.

3. I am sooooooooo off my plan to reduce my caffeine and sugar consumption. I am a junkie man. I joke about this, but I actually am pretty disappointed with myself. I've been doing okay (not great, just okay) about getting some exercise in and not weighing myself (the scale is still hidden until Saturday) but that is it. I have a million excuses but I know that I just need to be honest with myself and do some thinking about why I chose not to take a better path in terms of treating myself and my health better. I know that stress and being busy bring out the worst in me, in terms of the sugar addiction, and I know that stress (finishing school, working the second job) and busyness (the holidays, possibly starting a job search) are coming and I don't want to continue to self medicate with sugar until things calm down (who knows when and if that will ever happen?)

4. I said goodbye to a dear friend this week (safe travels Judith! We miss you already!) and that sucked and was sad. I am a big, silly goofball most of the time, but I really am seriously, fiercely attached to the people in my life and I was brought to tears several times this week thinking about the people I love and preparing to say goodbye to Judith. Sniffle.

5. Michael and I will mark three months of marriage this weekend. Yep, we're pros now. I think that I shall now, with all the wisdom accrued during these 90 days of wedded bliss, start giving out marital advice whenever I can, whether I'm asked or not. People will be so grateful.

Seriously, though, I am really enjoying married life and I think all the other stuff in my life would feel a lot more stressful without Michael around. It is nice to have an ally, a sounding board, a partner in crime and someone to dance to the Law and Order theme song with (really. We have a whole dance. I'm thinking of adding jazz hands to the end.)

6. I think I want to run a 10K again. Maybe this spring. I want to make Michael run one as well. Anyone else wanna come? I think a 10K gang (we'd have colors-pink, perhaps?- and a sign and everything) would be fun.

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I just ran spell check on this entry and it insisted that the replacement for "goofball" was "cowbell". For some reason that cracks me up.

Caffeinated Lotion Monkey

So, tonight is the big night. The night that I once again enter the glamorous world of seasonal retail employment. Oh the rapture. Oh the anticipation.

Yes, yours truly will, after two days of what will no doubt be rigorous training (I imagine they, like the Navy Seals, will have to break me down in order to build me back up stronger and faster than before) will slip on a cheerful red apron and prepare to whore out a variety of scented lotions and soaps to frantic Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza/Festivus shoppers. In exchange for my willingness to smile and not mutter things like "18 years of education and I am working at the mall...where did it all go wrong?" too loudly, I will be rewarded with an insubstantial hourly wage and a 30% discount. Everyone on my Christmas list had best start preparing themselves for a gift that somehow involves scented lotion, soap, candles or some combination of the three.

Actually, while I'm sure that I will grumble from time to time (I love a good grumble) about working retail and being surrounded by 17 year old coworkers, I really don't mind it that much. I am good at being polite to strangers and I don't mind being forced to spend hours experiencing artificial commercial Christmas joy, so the mall is the perfect place for second job.It will feel good and virtuous and noble to have some extra money to throw at those bastards at Citibank and to tuck into savings so that Michael and I can eventually be like the cool kids we know and own a house of our own. I feel guilty about having credit card debt (and yes, it is mine not "ours" as it stems from my impoverished college years and my slightly less impoverished but more prone to impulse shopping single years) and I think I will derive some Protestant work ethic kind of joy from seeing the balance go lower and lower.

My major source of concern with this new gig is that the store where I will be working is literally steps away from major temptation. I will be walking by and seeing and smelling Cinnabon and Mrs. Fields and Coffee Exchange every time I go to work and I worry about my ability to resist the siren song of overpriced and overprocessed food court goodies. On the plus side, my gym is right next door to the mall, so maybe, hopefully I'll be able to still work out on a regular basis. I know I need to have a plan for how I am going to manage my time and my food choices, but I'm not quite sure what that will be yet. I'll get back to you.

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I've decided that, from time to time, I'm going to post some goals or items from my to-do list here in the hope the publicizing what I want/need to do will actually make it more likely that I will do those things.

1. Finish updates/corrections to thesis by Wednesday: I have to meet with my advisor on Wednesday and I better not go empty handed.

2. Work out at least once this weekend: Nothing major, just 30 minutes of something to get the blood pumping.

3. Finish a craft project that needs finishing by the end of the weekend. Try not to injure myself with the glue gun or stapler. Do not sniff the glue stick or markers.

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Rain, rain, don't go away...

CNN.com keeps promising me rain. The darkening clouds outside my office window are making promises of their own. I'm starting to think that if I can breathe deeply enough, I'll be able to take in that clean, damp earth smell.

I am desperate for the weather to change. I yearn for real fall weather. I want to wear jeans and long sleeve t-shirts (or, oh the dream of it, a sweatshirt) on the weekend. I want to sip peppermint hot chocolate on a rainy Saturday afternoon. I want weather that demands cozy behavior: curling up on the couch with an afghan and a good book, lighting candles, making yeast bread and hearty soups, sipping warm beverages...I long for these things but I can't generate real enthusiasm for them until the temperature is out of the 80's on a regular basis.

I love living in Arizona, most of the time, but there comes a point every year where the unrelenting good weather gets on my nerves. I went to college in Grand Rapids, Michigan where I basically bitched and moaned for four years about the dreadfully cold weather. I wasn't especially fond of winter so I told anyone who would listen how superior Arizona weather was, but I have to admit that Michigan does autumn quite well. I don't miss much about Michigan, but I do missing falling leaves, seeing my breath on my way to morning classes and the way that the environment seems to relax a little and encourages you to do the same. Fall is the quiet season.

Spring and summer are all about rebirth and growth. Spring and summer are busy seasons- plants growing and blooming, the sun always shining, the days so long- but fall is about rest. The world seems to settle into self a little, getting ready for the sleep that is winter. The days grower shorter and colder, encouraging quiet, indoor activities. You can't possibly expect to get as much done in the fall as you can in the summer. I like a season with lowered expectations.

This summer was, for several reasons, especially busy and productive. I planned a wedding, got married to the love of my life, moved out of the world's crappiest studio apartment, finished up my last grad school classes...good changes, but big changes. Now, I want rain and cold and dark skies and early sunsets and the chance to quietly settle into my new life.

Sick days

I'm home sick today. I was home sick yesterday too. Sadly for me, I'm home actually sick, not just "sick" so I can work on my thesis. In a cruel twist of fate, I came down with a headache and the beginnings of a head cold on the day that I already planned to fake sick with a headache.

I feel cruddy. I feel fuzzy and dull and sweaty. My main source of entertainment is listening to the air whistle out my left nostril, the only one that is currently working. My major accomplishment for the day was taking a shower. I needed a nap afterwards. Brushing my teeth wore me out.

I'm going back to bed now.

Binge working

I am going to have a headache tomorrow. I began planning my headache on Monday and cleared it with my boss this afternoon. I am going to have a headache and I am going to stay home from work. I have a thesis to write.

I have a thesis to write and I have discovered that I get the most accomplished when I binge work, when I spend all day at the computer, stoping only for regular jolts of caffieine (yes, I plan to be back on the sauce tomorrow) and an hour break for All My Childern at noon. I wrote the bulk of the rough draft of my thesis in two days by staying home and doing nothing but writing, so I am hoping to accomplish as much on making corrections to my rough draft as I did when I wrote it the first time. The good news is that my advisor has seen the draft, didn't hate it and didn't give me a lot of areas that need correction. The bad news is that I have to have the rough draft rewritten by next week so I can give him time to review it before our next appointment.

I really want to finish grad school by December and it seems like that is a realistic aspiration at this point. I am sick of grad school. I am sick of theories. I am sick of other grad students, who engage in intellectual dick measuring contests where the winner is decided by who can drop the most obsure academic reference into a normal conversation (Me: "Hi, how are you?" Them: "Fine, though as Professor McSnottypants noted in 1979 in his groundbreaking work on female conversational dynamics, I'm just socialized to respond with a fine in the context of an informal conversation" Me: "Shut up"). I shouldn't be so grouchy. I am not actually in classes any more, so I hardly run into other grad students anymore, but the annoyance lingers from other semesters. Most of my crankyness about this process probably has more to do with my procrastination on writing and less to do with grad school itself, but blaming/mocking/complaining about other people is, for me, vastly more entertaining that thinking about the ways that I could have made this a better experience for myself.

I don't regret grad school, though I sometimes can't remember why it seemed like something that I had to do, other than to try to prove in some sort of official way that I'm smart. The secret is, however, that going to grad school doesn't prove that you are smart, it just proves that you did well enough to get in. Finishing grad school isn't a sign of genius either, it just means you stuck it out and you jumped through the neccessary hoops. There are, of course, many smart folks in grad school and with their ph.d's but they'd be smart even if they didn't have a disseratation sitting on the shelf somewhere.

In praise of procrastination or fake it till you make it.

I read an interesting article today about the benefits of procrastination. The author, an academic and, by his account, a life long procrastinator, argues that in the avoidance of one task we can often accomplish many other, smaller tasks. He makes the point that there is potential in procrastination: "Our best books are the unfinished ones" he says. Things unfinished don't have to bear the weight of being perfect or whole or complete.

I am not a chronic procrastinator. I am generally, almost anally, prompt with most things. I like to finish things, to check off the to do list, but when I do procrastinate, I think it does have to do with not wanting to fail at something, generally something that matters a great deal to me. I have procrastinated a lot on finishing my thesis even though it is the only thing that stands in between me and being finally, blessedly done with graduate school. I want to be done with grad school more than almost anything else, but here I am, a semester after I thought I would finish, still picking away at it. I think I avoid it sometimes because I'm so uncertain that I am doing it correctly. I worry that it will be crap so I ignore it for weeks at a time. During those weeks, I clean the house, I read, I knit, I watch episode after episode of Law and Order on cable. I fill the time, but I don't move forward with anything tangible or meaningful.

I'm coming to realize I do the same things with fitness/weight/health stuff. I know that I'm not perfect and the strain of wanting to be perfectly fit and healthy (and, of course, skinny. I am trying to change my internal goals from being weight oriented to being health oriented, but it is slow going. If I could eat nothing but candy corn and wear a size 6, most days I'd gladly take that deal.) makes me put off doing the things that will get me there. I don't want to work out because I feel like I am too out of shape to work out. I think that, often times, I compare my current self with an idealized version (the "what I'd be like if I did everything I should do") and since I don't meet that, I don't want to try. Grrr.

I'm going to go to the gym tonight though. I'm going to try to pretend to be a healthy, gym going person and do the things I think that sort of person would do. I hope that, if I keep doing that, it will eventually stick and I might become that kind of person. I going to try to pretend to be a productive grad student as well. We'll see how it goes.

Running with my husband

Alternate titles: Running behind my husband
Getting lapped by my husband
My husband: a view from behind

The mister and I went running tonight and it just sucked. I hate running sometimes, I really do, but it feels like the best marker to me of physical health so I keep doing it.

A little athletic background for you: I used to be a swimmer. I swam in high school and was pretty good at it. I once placed 12th in the state for the 100 butterfly. I didn't have much in the way of natural talent but I worked my ass off to be a decent swimmer. I swam at in the morning at 5am. I did weight trainging during the day. I swam for 2-3 hours every afternoon. I was, though I didn't know it at the time, in really, really good shape. Then I went to college. I joined the swim team but eventually a combination of shoulder injuries and kidney stones forced me to drop out. I quickly gained the freshman 15 and then the sophmore 10, the junior 14 and the senior 25. I graduated from college weighing at least 50 pounds more than I did when I graduated high school. Needless to say, I was thrilled with this development.

In college I would go on diets and I would, off and on, try to get back in shape through exercise but I was never able to get myself back to a schedule like what I maintained in high school (I realize, of course, that I could do way less than that and be in much better shape than I am now). As an adult, the exercise that I keep coming back to is running even though it feels so difficult to me most of the time. I feel heavy and slow and awkward when I run. The longer it has been since I last ran, the worse it is. Tonight was pretty lousy.

My husband, on the other hand, looks like he is part gazelle when he runs. We both haven't been running in a while but he was able to do 3 times as much as I was. Bastard. I used to be able to run 5 miles at a time and I even ran a 10K once (I finished 9th from the bottom. Elderly people beat me, but at least I finished). Tonight I couldn't even run a mile. Grr.

I miss feeling like I am athletic. I miss feeling comfortable in my skin when I move. I hate running right now, but I think I could love it again some day. I just need to keep running until that happens.

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In a follow up from the last posting, the Autumn Mix was returned to me and it has been decided that having my husband be the sugar police isn't that best plan in terms of me trying to change my relationship with the sweets. Michael will now just be in charge of being supportive--something he is quite skilled at.

I'm not Anne Bancroft

I not. I feel that I must apologize to anyone who may stumble across this blog looking for *that* Mrs. Robinson. That Mrs. Robinson was sexy and a little scary and is probably responsible for many young men going on to pursue careers in plastics.

I, on the other hand, never been accused of seducing anyone. I don't have mid-day trysts in hotel rooms. I don't know how to make putting on nylons look sexy, and I am certain that I would never, ever cheat on my husband with Dustin Hoffman.

I am Mrs. Robinson though and I do appreciate having my own theme song.

I am a recent Mrs. Robinson, having just recently finished jumping through all of the legal hoops needed to ditch my original, very hard to pronounce but well loved, last name and secure a more iconic moniker. I'm still adjusting to it though, much as I am probably still adjusting to the idea of being a Mrs. anything. I still giggle a little inwardly when I hear my husband mention "his wife".

I've been thinking a lot today about what it means to be a wife. Or, more specifically, what it means to be married and to share your life, your space, your weirdness with someone else. I love being married. I love being married to Michael, who is smart and funny and who is one of the best people I know, but sometimes the intimacy of married life surprises me.

Don't be alarmed. I'm not going to start talking about our sex life now. If you are interested in that sort of thing (pervert) you will just have to wait until some other post.

I'm surprised by the intimacy of daily life, by how quickly we come to know the others most private habits and the smallest details of their routines. I find that learning Michael's rhythms makes me feel secure and connected to him but the knowledge that he is well on his way to figuring me out is a little scary. I am prone to being secretive about certain things, especially things relating to food. So, as much as it is somewhat unnatural to post about my sugar lust on a blog that anyone could read, it is just as unnatural to be honest about that with my husband.

Last night I brought home a one pound of Brach's Autumn Mix, that delightful cavity in a bag with two kinds of candy corn and a bag of mellocreame pumpkins. If I lived by myself, I would have sat down in front of the tv (which would be tuned to something terribly trashy, most likely a reality show involving models or spoiled rich kids) and I would probably have eaten candy until I was sick to my stomach. Instead, I brought it home, tried to hide it from my husband, failed and had it confiscated. Michael is under strict orders to hide or destroy all candy in the house and no amount of whining ("but I have PMS! This is an emergency"), negotiating ("Okay, just give me the pumpkins. I'll totally put out tonight if I can have the pumpkins", or pouting ("You don't love me. A man who loved me would give me pumpkins") would dissuade him from his mission. He is being very dedicated to helping me stick to my plan. I hate that.

The pumpkins have likely joined the scale, which is also in hiding right now. I have a bit of a scale obsession. I like to weigh myself every single time I go into the bathroom and part of the new plan is to not weigh myself until the end of October. Hiding the scale was partially Michael's idea. He thinks I worry too much about the numbers on the scale and that I should just work on being healthy. He is very reasonable and logical about these things. I hate that too.

I know, logically, that giving up sugar and caffeine will improve my health. I realize that improving my health is a worthwhile goal in and of itself, but I'd be lying if I said that I don't care about losing weight too. I care. I care a lot, which is why the scale is going to stay hidden for a while... or until I can figure out where he hid it.

Things I Hate

Oooooh...the dreaded caffeine reduction crankiness is beginning to rear its ugly little head. I, who normally possess a fine and sunny disposition (Pollyana was actually my favorite movie when I was a little sugar monkey), am grumpy today. Actually, I woke up a little grumpy. I may be transitioning into surly now. Everything is annoying me today. Here, in no particular order, is an abbreviated list of my grievances:

1. My office smells a bit like foot today. Hot, middle of the summer, not wearing socks with my shoes foot. Here is my issue: I just got here. I haven't removed my shoes. So, whose foot am I smelling? And why won't they put their shoes back on?

2. I got stuck behind a funeral procession while driving this morning. I am actually annoyed at the stranger who died for making my morning drive longer.

3. Working out: Now, I haven't worked out yet today, so this is really more of a theoretical grievance. I hate that I need to do it, even when I don't want to. I hate that some people never work out and are always skinnier than me. I hate that, even though I have a great workout partner (Hi Kelly!) who likes to dissect pop culture with me while we work out, I still dread the gym. I hate, mostly, that I used to be athletic and I'm not anymore.

4. People who eat candy in front of me. Like my boss, who had a king sized Snickers and a Snapple for lunch today. I had salad. It was, by any measure, a good salad. Some mixed greens, some chicken, black beans, onions, tomatoes and some spicy dressing. Even though I like my salad, it made me bitter not to have a big old Snickers. I *know* that my lunch is healthier and healthier is good but healthier rarely involves noughet. I want noughet.

5. Arizona weather. I am done with summer. I want to wear fall clothes. I want the air to feel crispy and cool. I want to curl up on the couch under a blanket and read. Is it too much to ask for temperatures under 94 degrees in October?

6. My pants. Not the specific pants I am wearing right now, but all the other pants in my closet that don't fit me right now. I know a logical person would realize that it isn't the pants fault, but I am not in the mood to traffic in logic right now. I blame them and I want them to stop making my thighs look like sausages every time I try them on.

7. The student who just sat in my office and picked a scab off of his knee while talking to me. Ew.

8. The whole "8 to 5" work concept. I want to go home and I want go home now...not that I'm writing this at work. I'd never do that. I'm not that kind of employee (pssst...wanna know a secret? I totally am that kind of employee).

Okay. This too shall pass. Right?

The New Deal- Day 6

I have a confession to make, one that will surprise absolutely no one who knows me even a little bit. I love Diet Coke. I love it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I love it from McDonalds best of all (they seem to have the perfect balance of carbonation and syrup, and almost always put in just enough ice), but I'm not picky-I'll take it from wherever it comes. I will, and have, happily consumed a six pack or more in the course of a single day.

I have a second, equally unsurprising, confession to make. If there is one thing that I like better than Diet Coke, it is sugar. Yummy, yummy refined sugar, especially sugar found in the candy or cookie form. I am, frankly, a bit of a whore when it comes to sugar. I like really good expensive chocolate just as much as I love cheap 99cent a bag Mellocream pumpkins (mmm, let's pause to reflect on the glories of seasonal candy: candy corn at Halloween, candy hearts at Valentines, Cadbury eggs at Easter...these are the ways that I choose to mark the seasons). When left to my own devices, I have the self-restraint of a toddler. I will happily eat m&m's for breakfast, washed down with, of course, Diet Coke.

Clearly then it is no small thing when, exactly a week ago, I decided that I needed to explore this concept of "self control" that I've been hearing so much about and maybe, just maybe, get myself out of the habit of consuming close to 100 ounces of Diet Coke and about, roughly, a million grams of sugar a day. There were and are lots of good reasons for deciding to do this and maybe I'll post about them soon, but let me first bring you up to speed on the new deal I made with myself. I am on Day 6 of the following plan:

1. Limit self to 1 drink with caffeine per day. Said drink can not be purchased in, say, a bucket. Must be less than 32oz.
2. Drink 2 water bottles (32oz size) per day. My kidneys better brace themselves.
3. Limit self to one sweet per day. One pan of brownies does not equal one sweet, so I'm going to pay attention to those pesky serving sizes.
4. Eat one fruit and/or vegetable at each meal. Fruit doesn't count as a sweet, even though it does have sugar. I can't handle the thought of giving up pineapple and grapes and strawberries at a time like this.
5. Write down everything I eat. Just trying to keep myself honest here.

There are other parts to this plan, but you'll have to tune in later to find out about those.

So, how's it going? Well, my husband still seems to find me delightful and friends are still returning my phone calls, so I guess I'm not as grumpy as I thought I might be. I am finding that the caffeine is much, much easier to give up than the sugar.

I actively miss, yearn and ache for the sugar, especially in the afternoon. The other day someone brought in the world's best doughnuts to work and I thought about them, dreamed about them and longed for them all day.

The doughnuts, that is, not the person that brought them in.

It was distracting and maddening how much I wanted them. I had one and I instantly wanted more, more, more.

I've heard that once you get your body out of the sugar habit, your desire for sugar decreases. I don't think I believe this yet, but I'll keep you posted.

Welcome

So, in keeping with a long standing tradition of being no where near the cutting edge of a trend or a technology, I've decided to start a blog. Most of the cool kids have been doing this for months, years, ages but I am, after all, a person who still uses a Walkman...that plays tapes. Yep. No newfangled Ipods for me, no sir. I like my portable music player to weigh about 5 pounds and to, occasionally, eat aging mix tapes.

I originally added the words "while I'm running" to the end of the last sentence but then I thought you, gentle reader, might get the mistaken impression that I am a runner. And since lies are not a good foundation for any relationship, I deleted. The thing is that I'd like to be a runner. I'd like to do a triathalon. I'd like to have a diet that didn't consist of 3 parts Diet Coke, 4 parts candy, 2 parts cookies and one part everything else. I'm just not that person. Yet.

I think I could be, though, so I'm going to be using this blog to figure out how. Won't you join me for all the fun of caffeine withdrawal?