Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Apples are NOT Sausage

I can barely lift my fingers to type. Day three of no sugar means I'm fucking exhausted.

I, by some miracle, woke up early and went to the gym. I had a great workout. But now fear the energy meant for me to make it through the day has been sweat out profusely, thanks to new trainer Frank. Geez, Frank.

I fully intend to nap in my car over lunch, assuming my legs can actually carry me that far. I was warned by others that came before that day three might make you a little snappy. I don't even have the energy to be snappy.

Additionally, after leaving the gym this morning, I came home to make some breakfast sausage for Blake and myself. Because we are confined to so few edible items during this sugar-less period, we relish in our breakfast sausage. It's almost sad that it has become the holiest of holy's in our home.

But today was different.

I made the sausage, like you do. I put it out on the plate in an ornately beautiful arrangement to make it probably more glorious than it seems. I went to the bathroom. I came back.

Gone, girl.

All. Gone.

I turn around to see a shaking pup in the corner with her head cowering so low, it was practically touching the carpet.

Lucy ate all of the sausage. ALL OF THE SAUSAGE!

After some disciplining and some severe, unnecessary sadness about the sausage, I had to substitute with an apple. Apples are NOT sausage.

So, in other news, I can't remember if I said that I'm tired.

Thanks for sou……..