One Bus I Wish I’d Missed Entirely

“But what about people that eat like this everyday and don’t realize that the sluggish gross feeling doesn’t have to be there? What about those of you reading this that do this and feel bad thinking you are the only one?”

I woke up today feeling like I’d been run over by a bus. I’m not sick, and I’ve been quarantined for an entire week (I’m about to go get Colton from school, and I’m pretty sure that’s the same thing as going to Disney Land). I started thinking about what could be going on. I didn’t take anything to make me drowsy, I didn’t drink and I wasn’t up ridiculously late last night.

I am too foggy to do schoolwork, and I really just want to crawl back in bed.

Then I remembered…McDonald’s. I finally got my fry fix yesterday after a few weeks of abstaining from fast food…and then I might have made cookies afterwards. And then I might have eaten said cookies. I immediately messaged my amazing Crossfit Coach, Angie, and asked if this was the hangover I’d seen her discuss in an earlier post.

Yep. I encourage you to check out her blog!! I’m getting back on the healthy bus, instead of under it. This is for the birds.

http://doodleturtles.blogspot.com/2015/01/i-ate-all-macrosblech.html

Quarantine Journal Entry, Day 3:

In case you don’t know, Kentucky was declared to be in a State of Emergency due to the ridiculous amounts of snow we’ve received.  Little man and I have been stuck at home for 3 days, 2 of which my LEO has been absent. This was my Facebook status this morning.

Quarantine Journal Entry, Day 3:

The sun is back, highlighting our obstruction and declaring our boundaries. Taunting us with freedom and, yet, designating our mobility again restricted. One must wonder if we’ve not yet paid penance to Mother Nature (for whatever crimes She has found us guilty, though no notice of trial was received), or if we’ve simply been forgotten by those responsible for our discharge (I’ve heard them regarded as “Plows”). Our Mustang is stabled, but rendered temporarily hors de combat.

An open aired prison; it is deadly and cold, but fluffy.

Food rations are sufficient, though variety is exceedingly limited. My cell mate, the Small One, begs for “pancakes”, knowing full well I am incapable of producing them without also creating heterocyclic amines and polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons. The Small One calls this phenomenon “burnt.” His want for “burnt” pancakes is the first sign of his instability, and should be noted for reference in his potential coming decline. I provide cereal as an alternative, when scrambled eggs are dismissed by his palate. The Small One is displeased by my offering, though chocolate milk seems to quell him (for the time being). It should also be noted, we are short on chocolate syrup.

I suppose we should be thankful. After all, neither of us is alone and heat is readily available. Our prison is stocked with the means to shower, we can wash clothes and it boasts finite entertainment (television, the internet and Xbox).
However, after consuming the cereal, the Small One is demonstrating the unmistakable symptoms of refined sugars and carbohydrates quickly entering the bloodstream. Therefore, causing rapid changes in blood sugar levels and, further, adding to my hypothesis that he is beginning to lose his mind. What our prison does not have is a hamster wheel on which to run him. I shall put in my request to the “Plows,” should they ever make their appearance.

I’ll not let my status become like that of the Small One. I have much work to do, and limited time in which to accomplish it. My work for the University bears no leniency, even though they share my current circumstance. No, I dare say my mentors are encouraged by my conditions, believing the time will bring me focus.

They’ve not taken into account the effects of prolonged exposure to the Small One.

My first day in the Free World will be met with a questionable amount of Chinese food, specifically fried rice.

Until next time,
B.

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