I Eat Meat

I'm trying to be good to my cheeks and refrain from my present destruction of them in the form of cannibalism (by chewing them up) but it is hard. I am trying to quit cold turkey and I am afraid I am so far gone that it has turned into some sort of disease. Like alcoholism is a disease. Like starving yourself by anorexia is a disease. Like anything that is really not a disease, is a disease.

I am cutting myself some slack though. For me, it is a minute by minute process. I chew, realize after five seconds my blunder, then I say to myself, "I am starting to stop NOW!" Believe me, my mouth is less chewed off and is healing sort of nicely (I have tons of scar tissue in there) rather than it being a bloody massacre, which it usually is. I know, it is sick. THAT is how I can fill my whole entire mouth full of blood, run at innocent people, and freak them all out when I part my lips. No, I am not a vampire. And I haven't done that in years.

On another note, school is looking less grim because there are only forty and maybe two days left---I can not wait for summer. Well, just some warmer weather. I want to grill, get up in the morning and sit at my patio table and feel the cool breeze rustle through my now brownish red hair, and drink a glass of wine out there in the evenings. I don't look forward to, however, sweating on my black leather interior and dealing with the Oldest and his flying insect fear. I am bracing myself for that malarkey. There are pros and cons to everything, I guess.

I think I might try to iron at some point today before the pile gets any larger. Last time I procrastinated the pile got so huge that it took Dear Sir and I a full week of ironing several hours a day (in shifts) to get it all done. My man would make me iron the sheets but I bar my teeth at him whenever the idea crosses his mind and he keeps his distance. He even says weakly, "...I suppose maybe when the kids are out of the house and we have time...." Nice save. I say, if the kids are out of the house and we have less mouths to feed---if ironing the sheets is a priority, it can be done by the cleaners. But you know what? I am being a total nimrod. What a luxury it is to have someone iron things for you when the rest of the country lives on a little square of land and children sort through garbage in Africa to get food? This is totally not funny, and I guess I better iron my own sheets if Dear Sir so wishes it. As you can see, my whole life is ridden by guilt.

Dear Sir says I thrive on feeling guilty. I will probably die from feeling guilty that I live.

So do any of you guys (besides Martha Stewart, who ALWAYS reads this blog) iron your sheets? And Martha, you don't have to pipe up with your answer, I already KNOW you iron yours. Or your little peon does for you.