i was in chicago at a convention this week, and i rocked my health. no alcohol, no sleeping pills, not even cigarettes -- no nothing. and when my brother, nephew and colleague went out for their gi-mundo dinner, i stayed in and got room service -- tuna sandwich, salad, soup, sparkling water one night and a chicken sandwich, with accessories, the next. tasty and containable. and not a glass of red wine in sight. really, really helped.
room service felt fancy and special. i called my friends, watched American Idol (the definition of a train wreck. i even turned off the sound at times but was still glued), and stared out at the glorious view.
still, i came back from chicago kind of down. PMS (with the pimples to prove it) brings the blues.
i spend way too much money, i'm not in dream work, i don't know how to put air in my tires.
BUT i can change how i go forward. time to stop the cash hemorrhaging. time to dream about dream work. and at nearly 45, it's time to learn how to put air in my tires.
BUT i don't want to learn to cook, i don't care if my apartment's messy, and i don't want to stop coloring my hair.
a good start.