McD's and dirty faces

When I was little, and I stayed home sick from school my mother would get me a happy meal at lunch.   That was the only time we got McDonald’s really.  My mom was so careful about what we ate that she’d mark on the family calendar when we ordered pizza – so as to never exceed our once a month rule.  Because ordering pizza twice in a month?  Preposterous.  Perhaps that rationing is why I got so fat in college… oh well.

But I think because of my Happy Meal sick-day regimen, now that I’m an adult, anytime I feel less than stellar; all I want are chicken nuggets and French fries.  I don’t know why my body craves something that makes me feel like crap when I’m already feeling crappy, but it does.  As if I don’t feel lousy enough, let’s add in the worst edible offerings to upset things further, shall we?

Yesterday I had one of those days where I felt like the universe was out to get me.  I started crying on my walk to the train – pulled myself together.  I cried on the train – pulled myself together. And took two walks during the day to avoid crying at my desk.  I missed my morning workout because I forgot to turn on my alarm when setting it (helpful tip – if you want it to go off in the morning, you need to turn it on) and I felt lazy and fat and terrible.  Emotionally I was also a wreck, so clearly, passing a McDonald’s several times on each walk did my will power no good at all.  That place is like a sick or sad person magnet.  I stopped in, of course, and then, not immediately because it takes my body a full 15 minutes to realize what I’ve done, but 15 minutes later I wished with all my might that I’d just gone elsewhere and ordered a salad.

I am paying for yesterday’s mistake today. 

Oh, speaking of today - for the third year in a row, it took me seeing four people with soot on their face before I remembered it was Ash Wednesday.  I just kept thinking they were dirty, and how did they not notice? 

If I ever walk into a church again I will be struck by lightning.   Happy almost Lent.