The Thing(s) Is(are)

I can't sleep.

I'd call it Insomnia, but I can't help but suspect it's my alarming lack of a schedule.

Always been this way. I remember tottering out blurry-eyed in my cotton Strawberry Shortcake nightgown. Dad watching 10 o'clock news would say to me "then stay up all night" when clearly I was hoping for a glass of water or a bedtime story. His throw-off was much more wildly successful. Damn. Might as well sleep. Or stare at the ceiling.

I am pudgy.

And I know this is because most nights I cannot sleep. So I stay awake with wine and one 100-calorie-pack after another until I have consumed 1,000 calories. Easily. Maybe more.

So here it is: 1:00 a.m. That's a lot of colons, my friends. And what do I do with all of those when the alarm goes off at 6:45 am? Snooze, snooze, snooze bar.

I decided to take up smoking (this week) in hopes that I would stop eating and start puffing instead at 1:00 am, forgetting that the nicotine high makes me... well... high. Which is not conducive to sleep.

I have this dumb ass National meeting in Orlando next month and I got it in my head that I would lose all this weight and be fabulous for it. But, instead, here I am. 1:00 am. Red wine and 100-calorie-pack.

Have you seen that show "Obsessed" on A&E? Oh, I highly recommend it, though it is not for the squeamish. Toothbrushes and rectums and all. (Rectum real good, Johnny).

Still, I wonder if I should find me a local cognitive behavior therapist who will fix my naughties. 1:00 am and wine and 100-calorie-packs and do you know how much I bite my nails? Constantly, even in important meetings to close the deal when I know the client is looking at me like, "What is with this chipmunk in my conference room?"

It's like heroin, this wine, calorie pack, cuticle addiction of mine. But it is mine. Mine all mine.

And who out there doesn't have vices? I ask you.....