I’m twenty-four hours sugar free and crazy as a Betsy bug which in case you didn’t know is an insect that flies around erratically and make lots of noise, and seems …well…crazy.
I’m also deranged as an outhouse rat. Only the crazy rats would live in an outhouse, capiche?
Sandwiched between a sugar-hangover the size of Texas and facing a day without my drug of choice, I’m feeling downright maniacal. That’s Kafkaesque if you’re Czechoslovakian. Non Compos Mentis if you’re Latin. Fit to be tied if you’re Southern and just plain pathetic if you’re anybody else.
Seeking strength to go a second day sugar free, I’m sitting at on my front porch swinging while wearing a chocolate smeared sweat suit, and breathing in the exhaust fumes of the beer truck stalled in front of my house. That can’t be good but I watch, fascinated that the world is still turning while I suffer so.
I’ve already been up for three hours and accomplished many exciting things like scraping the melted plastic off my cooktop (wonder who did that?) and tossing a bunch of unwanted clothes in a box to go the Palmer Home Resale store then putting them all back in the closet. I’m about to go rearrange the dining room which has four interior doors meaning it can only be arranged one way but I keep moving things around in hopes six more inches will magically materialize. Moving furniture is futile yet somehow cathartic for crazy people.
This is what happens to sugar addicts when they binge, then try to climb back on the wagon. I just drank a quarter cup of apple cider vinegar on the rocks but I’m not sure why. I think Marie told me it would counteract some of the sugar I consumed over the past week. I know it gave me heartburn which has indeed reduced some of the cravings.
I consider my dreary options for the colorless day ahead without sugar. I could drive out to the Kroger and help Mr. Devers retrieve wayward grocery carts and corral them into a “loco”motive (get it?) to be rolled back to the store. On second thought I think I’ll go nap on couch, wake up and repeat.
While y’all are still merrily preparing for your Christmases, I’m deep in depression since my family Christmas has come and gone and I face a home filled with empty Fed Ex boxes and piles of cat regurgitation. Apparently PDiddy cleaned up the kitchen for me during the night and it didn’t agree with her.
Please say a prayer for me – a poor pathetic recovering sugar addict who is seriously considering going through the sixteen garbage bags on the back porch in search of an abandoned M & M. I threw away an entire bag of the evil little sugar bombs yesterday and now I’m wanting them back in the worst way. You think M&Ms can be run through the dish washer?
Instead I think I’ll light my new candle which emits the smell of a fresh Macintosh computer and have a stick of celery piled high with Aunt Emma’s pimiento cheese. Yes’m, I’m feeling better already.
Ever the optimist, I consider that all this may be part of God’s magnificent plan to get me to practice some self discipline and consider the true reason for the season instead of a pathetic excuse for dipping into guilty pleasures.