I've decided I'm not a runner, not a writer, and maybe not even a very good pianist. And self-control? What's that?
I think I'm going to give up cleaning the house, cooking for my family, and trying to convince the children to take baths. In return, I'll spend hours on the internet and maybe watching TV.
I guess it hasn't been a very good day.
I've cleaned up pee from the dog, throw up out of a carseat, lighter fluid off a deck, and then pee from a potty-training three-year-old.
And I haven't started preparing the 60 chicken salad sandwiches for my niece's wedding shower tomorrow. Or preparing the salad ingredients. Or preparing the games. (This isn't a burden, Brianna! I'm really excited to do it! I just haven't STARTED YET!!!)
I think the path grief takes us on is different for everyone. Today my grief just decided to make me a big fat (literally, if I keep up with this sugar binge) selfish wuss.
Tomorrow is another day. My optimism has been shelved for the moment in the back cupboard of my brain. It'll probably peek out again soon.
Oh, darn. There's that stupid optimism winning out again.
But I think I'll still give up running and giving kids baths. And weeding. And eating well.