Monday confessional

In honor of the fact that today is Monday (and Mondays really are the black sheep of the Day family), I feel the need to share some of the dark thoughts that are lurking in my soul.

The soul that is particularly dark and cranky on this Monday. For several reasons.

First, having just spent a small fortune to have all the trees in my yard pruned and trimmed, plus a dead one removed, it is most disheartening to have a large branch break off during a freak thunderstorm yesterday. Because really? I just love spending money on stuff like dead trees. It's way more fun than on, say, furniture and clothes. Both of which could be purchased for the same price of stupid dead trees.

Second, is it just me or does anyone else find it annoying to log onto reader and see that the Pioneer Woman (though my hero she will always be) has written like four posts by eight a.m.? I swear. I can barely crank out two or three a week. That woman writes like eight posts a day. It's driving me batty. And not because I don't enjoy reading them. But because I feel the need to compete with everyone and every thing around me.

Third, I don't know what it is about the last few months, but I CANNOT. STOP. THE. EATING. It's getting way out of control and I need help. Please. Someone at church grab me by the extra-thick arms next week and tell me you are noticing how chubby I am getting and you wish I would stop. This gravy train has bought a one-way ticket to the next size up, and I am not sure how to stop it.

Fourth, I love the fall, but I really hate raking the leaves. And since we live in Del Boca Vista, every single one of our retired neighbors is out there, morning, noon and night. Raking, trimming, weeding, mulching. And, undoubtedly, pointing at our house and cursing. Not that I blame them - the leaves are piling up. But sheesh. How can one get in all the eating if one is supposed to be outside raking?

And, last, but not least, I am sick of my hair and need a hair suicide hotline that I can call. Remember two years ago what happened when I got sick of it? Please. Someone stop me before I do something drastic, like run into the salon, a Twinkee in each hand, and beg to get the Bruce Jenner.

Yeah. It's that bad.

Happy Effing Monday.