Something happened over the course of the last two days that has been troubling me deeply--and by deeply, I mean not too much, considering I still have a full face, no terminal illnesses that I know of, and I'm not homeless.  I stuffed my face like a Thanksgiving turkey this holiday with candied yams, glazed ham, potato gratin, gravy, pumpkin pie, and stuffing.  Totally fudged up my daily dietary goals--I mean, really smudged that shit up. I tried to go to confession but the priest told me to get the hell out; and then I realized that it's not bothering me too much, as that burning inside me is actually a desire to start exercising.  More importantly, I finally followed through and initiated an exercise routine.  And more importantly, I passed the month mark for sobriety last week, two months shy of my record.

I tend to go to bed real early, but I'm not sleepy or depressed.  It seems like I'm traveling on this low frequency, verging on contentment, subtly stroking patience; and I know this sentence doesn't actually say anything, but I'm just going to go with it.  See apropos of the pumpkin pie, the problem is that it's there as I walk by after  I had sweets in my dreams.  It should not be there and be somewhere else in stead of there.  And I'm pretty good at not putting things there or shying away, but it was the holidays, you know?