an open letter to myself

Hey there,


Please stop eating Ruffles for lunch.  This is a decision you will always regret.  You will ride the Sickly train from Mild Anxiety all the way to the last stop, Self-Loathing.  Go to the gym.  Endorphins will make you feel better.  And if you keep up with stretching you can stop hunching over your desk like a vulture.  Your back won't hurt so much.  You're slipping into procrastination again.  If you do what you say you'll do you won't feel the guilt mixing with disappointment and the potato chips in the pit of your stomach.  Buy some vegetables.  You like them.  We can talk about the shoes that cost a third of your rent some other time.


See you around,
me

above the clouds

Being good at things is a nice feeling, closely followed by the desire to get even better at those things.

disgruntled

It seems the 'world-class institution' that employs me is the only place open today despite the 'snow'.  Roads are dry, but I still had to scrape off the shell of ice encasing my car with an old key card from the Boston Park Plaza hotel.  Also, city of Houston, guess what happens when you sand the roads two days before the apocalypse?  You get sandy curbs.  It's going to be 65 tomorrow.