Oh the Horror

I did not hit my goal of blogging thrice last week. I'm so ashamed that I don't want to discuss it.


Except that I am a woman, and therefore feel the need to talk about everything in excessive and mindnumbing detail. So I will tell you that I did not blog because there was a national "milestone" in the presidential election (notice that I use quotation marks because others described it as such but NOT ME), there was an evening with wine and so much girlish banter that I could not blog about more girlish banter, there was a small-town German festival in which I consumed beer and sausage and fried potatoes and got home well past a decent hour, and there was a road trip beginning at 4pm on Friday. I was a busy girl.


But I must share with you something that embarasses me even more than not doing something I promised to do. It is this, my friends:




My Wednesday morning breakfast.


God bless Shipley's Donuts. I don't know where the urge came from, but I decided that I HAD TO HAVE a donut for breakfast last Wednesday morning. I went in, ordered a sausage kolache (for health purposes) and then my eye spied that delicous treat. I think it was called the Bullseye or Blazer or something like that. I whispered my order over the counter, because I didn't want the other donut patrons to judge me. The server didn't hear me so I had to say it a little louder. I hung my head in shame. Then he said, "Sprinkles or no sprinkles?" and I almost walked out of the door to escape my guilt. I didn't utter a word, only closed my eyes, bit my bottom lip, and nodded. He understood that I was a woman in need of a glazed, chocolate iced, white icing-topped, sprinkled DONUT.


I took a picture before I consumed my "breakfast" because I needed to remind myself that there are people who concoct such an item.


And then there are people like me that savor every morsel. I was wired until I sugar-crashed at about 8:30. My kindergarteners didn't stand a chance that day.

My name means "Full of Grace"

I got a little nervous a while ago thinking about what I'm going to write in my blog. As if I've never done this before. As if I've never graced you with an eyeful of mindless chatter before. Heck no. I'm a pro at mindless chatter. I blogged yesterday afternoon and set a measly goal of 3 blogs this week. I used to do this every day, for Pete's sake! And I thought I'd have nothing to write about...or no structure...or nothing witty to say. But that's not what you've ever expected before, so why start now?

And so I must tell you this story. I went on an 11 mile run yesterday. Because I'm stupid. The first three miles were a breeze and I was thinking about good topics for blogging. I came up with only a few good things until...

Until.

1. The toenail on my big toe on my left foot fell off. To be completely honest (and a smidge gruesome) the entire nail did not fall off. Just about 5/8 of the top. It's from running far distances, such as 11 miles. This made me curse running.
2. About 4 miles into the run, I had to Potty with a capital P. Several scenarios ran through my head of how I could remedy this issue. My best choices were to pray for the urge to pass or Potty in the corner and then wipe my bum on the grass like a 7 pound dog. This made me curse running more.
3. I managed to finish the run, albeit cursing running. I felt ill and attributed the weak feeling to having just RUN 11 MILES. I got home, drank a smoothie, showered. Then my body shook and my stomach wretched and I saw my green smoothie once more.

I managed to make it to the Potty for both occasions. My body curses running.

Ah yes. You missed my grace and tact, no? I aim to please.

A New Me

Ah the sweet smell of fall. Or whatever season it's supposed to be seeing that it's 84 degrees on November 2nd. "November" (and I use quotation marks because I've been told we are in that month, but am not personally convinced for the aforementioned reasons) makes me feel spry and remember that it was a year ago I started blogging. "November" has made me set a new goal. And the collective youth of America (none of whom read this, let's be honest) just let out a sigh of irritation that I, an adult, am talking about setting goals. Or more precisely, one goal.

My goal is to blog three days a week this month. Check back tomorrow.

PS. For all you OCD folks out there (if you just asked yourself, "Do I have OCD?", the answer is "YES.") this blog does not count as one of the three this week.