When I'm not working, I spend a lot of time daydreaming about when he comes home. Ok, I daydream about it even when I am working.
That might explain a lot.
|Deadlines are such pesky little things. I'll tend to them later.|
After hanging up the phone, I had a terrible realization. You see, I have been carrying on a sordid affair with chocolate since Mr. Vagabond left at the beginning of January.
|Just one taste. Maybe two.|
What to do, what to do.
At first, I thought what any reasonable person whose nightstand is covered with Twix wrappers might think. I need to go on a diet, and I will start exercising.
Ok, maybe tomorrow.
I have the best ideas when I falling asleep. Unfortunately, the cold light of morning exposes a harsh reality. Would I really exercise?
|This looks fun!|
|Just like jail, but with more activity and worse food.|
I'd exhausted all my ideas for physical activity, but I wasn't licked quite yet.
I thought about buying a super hot corset. Mr. Vagabond would LOVE that.
|Look at that tiny waist (And pay no attention to the squooshies coming out the top and bottom).|
|How does this thing WORK?|
Fine. The corset is a no-go. Even if I could find a way to get the thing on, Mr. Vagabond is not known for his patience.
I'm running out of ideas, here.
I have two weeks to shed the plumpage I've gained since January 4, and I need some inspiration.
Right after I finish this cherry danish.