Addictions: Supernatural, Sugar, and Self-Pity.


I’m alive and kicking (mostly when I’m swimming.)

I’ve been on vacation all week and it has been quite beautiful. I go back to work on Monday. My hands are not looking forward to it. They’ve been quite grateful that I haven’t been typing 8+ hours a day lately. I have a big hole in my heart where Jem and Conan the Adventurer usually take up residence, though. That’s all I’m really looking forward to.

I’ve spent the majority of my vacation in the pool or looking at these men*:
















It’s been a good time. If you don’t know who these men are, I suggest you watch this video (that only one of them is in.)  After that, I suggest you start watching Supernatural. It’s absolutely disgusting how much I love this show. I haven’t been so obsessed with something on television since Buffy The Vampire Slayer (I still have a thing for Xander Harris.)

Anyway, on to real things that I wanted to talk about.

I did a little experiment on Wednesday. I decided not to consume any sugar. None. At all. Not even Splenda (which, I know, isn’t sugar, but I go through like 20 packets of it a day.)

I made it until about 3:00 p.m. Thursday, where I decided that it was a good idea to eat half a box of cookies and this holyshitamazing fruit bar thing my uncle made from fresh blackberries he picked. Oh my god.

Results of my experiment? I’ve diagnosed myself with a sugar addiction. I had a massive headache all night Wednesday/Thursday until Cookiegeddon. All I could think about was doughnuts. It was pretty brutal.

I’m still trying to figure out what to do with my new-found addiction. Practically everyone over 50 in my family has diabetes, so I probably need to cool it with sugar. I’m also the second-biggest person in a family of really huge people. (There’s another realization from this week.) I’ve got to do something about this.

I’m typing this while drinking a grande Cafe Estima with like four Splendas and while eating those glorious black-and-whites from Starbucks.

I have no real plan at the moment. For anything in my life. It could have been my insomnia medication, but I spent the majority of my pre-sleeping time in bed last night thinking about how I’m about to be 26 and I’m still sleeping in the room I grew up in, I’m nowhere near as formally educated as I want to be, and I have a job that barely pays enough to pay my car payment. It was thoroughly depressing.

Okay, I think I hit all the bases in my title. I came here to catch up on my readings for Sunday Night Book Club That Pretends To Be A Bible Study. I didn’t even bring my book out of the car. Winning, right?

Until next time, blogworld.

(ps. I’ve lost 4 pounds since we got the pool. That’s something?)

*There is another main character, way more “main” than Misha Collins’ character. However, I refuse to make Jared Padalecki into a sexual object until he gets a haircut and gets control of his face spasms.


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