I quit sugar on Tuesday night.
Well, I quit sugar in it's obvious forms, like Skittles, Nerds, Nerds Ropes, Nerds Blizzards, Cookies sprinkled with Nerds, Special Edition Nerds, and standing at the counter with a teaspoon in one hand and the sugar jar in the other, barely able to focus on the mouthful of melting granules that I've got because I'm so busy anticipating the next scoop of white, washed down with some Nerds.
Relax. Hawaiian, not Columbian. This is not a stupidly thin veil for drugs. I really did quit eating raw sugar (yum), candy, cookies, cakes, muffins, Pop-Tarts (danger! Danger!! DANGER!!!!), and stuff. Although, sidenote, I AM going to be making cookies for Nick Lachay, no lie, and I will taste those before I bestow them upon King Hott.

Now that I think about it, though, from what I hear about drugs, that's about what I might need to get me through this obviously difficult time in life. I feel distant and sluggish and I can't sleep. You would think that quitting sugar two days ago, which feels like a damn LIFETIME ago, would have the opposite effect; that I would feel liberated and clear. You would think that immediately, I would feel health coursing through me.

Not so much.
I feel like ass.
I feel mean.
I have tunnel vision, I could gnaw off a couple of fingers, and the Lite Rock is making my head throb.

Plus, I had to make some changes at home.
I used to have two indoor/outdoor cats and my dog. Now I have one indoor/outdoor cat, one outdoor cat, and my dog.
Maggie's days were numbered.
She's always been a weirdo, a very sweet weirdo but a weirdo nevertheless. She has this problem with being amorous and she has this other problem with letting me know she's pissed off by.... well... pissing.
By the recycling, by the tv, in the shower, on the bathroom rug and yesterday, on my BED.
Dead straight-up in the stone-cold middle.
My bed is a sad state of affairs, no doubt. I've needed a new one for a very long time and haven't figured out what I want to do about that or how to approach the problem.
Time's up, Cupcake.
Find the cash, pay for delivery, and banish the cat to a more rustic lifestyle.
When I finally crawled into my bed at 12:30 in the morning, I wanted to cry upon my discovery.

Is there anything trashier?

But of course.

There's me collaring the cat and removing her by the scruff of her neck standing on my porch at 1 AM in my underwear and calling "Hey coyotes! Sna-aack!!" before dropping her and shutting the door.

There's me stripping the bed and pouring Out! onto the spot.

There's me NOT making my bed with fresh sheets but pulling a blanket up, lying on that blanket and under another one and twisting into a tiny position where the foul couldn't possibly touch me.

There's me sleeping in the ruined bed because.... because there's nowhere else to sleep, you know? Which, admittedly is more sad than it is trashy.

Finally, because of all that, trashy is definitely thinking about quitting the Candy Wagon a mere two days after handily catching a ride on it. Would I really sacrifice my burgening empire of health for a Payday?
That was the question.
So far, the answer is no but God knows what I'm going to walk in on when I go home to let the dog out and get the laundry that, after last night, now requires my attention without further adieu.

Okay. This is cool.

At practice, as in life, I always say about myself, "Two hours, a million complaints." I can find something to complain about no matter what and I always have something that feels twitchy or sore. I have no problwm mentioning these things out loud; it's pretty much constant streaming audo from me.
It's more than once that I've been at practice and been doing a drill, only to return to the rest of the group and hear the laughing, "What the hell were you saying while you were doing that? You were talking the WHOLE TIME!"

Last night, I was muttering about I felt that I had failed when I left the house without water, without blister pads, without extra sock, and so on.
I realized people were listening and said on purpose, "I complain A LOT, huh?"

What happened next is what I have always believed to be true and always wanted to hear and yet never, ever, EVER expected it to be so true because of the pure arrogance of it.

"Yeah. But it's not annoying like when other people complain. When you complain it's funny; like you're saying what everyone else is thinking."

Needless to say, I had the best practice that I've had in awhile and I complained the FUCK out of complaining.

arizonasarah at 11:17 a.m.

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