Sundays

I absolutely hate Sundays. I hate them like most people hate Mondays. Sundays consist of pure dread over getting back into it. Mondays you are actually getting into it and going. Not really so bad after all. Five weeks and counting and this girl will be a free woman. No more law school!

I did want to make my own quick notes about orthorexia. I appreciate the praise, but I actually wasn't the one who wrote the article. (I'm still shocked that the line "when I cooked at the commune" didn't tip people off. I'm not sure what else I can do to convince everyone I'm not a crazy hippy.)

I realize my alleged orthorexia is a wish for perfect health (and yeah, immortality). But it's actually bigger for me. I am an incredibly indecisive and flaky person (anyone who knows anything about my love life can attest to that fact). So, deciding that certain things are unhealthy actually makes my life a lot easier. Trust me, I get overwhelmed in a bakery like a Frenchman in the wine aisle. So, instead of wanting everything, sometimes it's easier to concentrate on the things I know I can have. So, no sugar means you start enjoying well, black coffee.

Case in point. Lent is officially over so I can have dessert again - so a couple of friends and I decided to head to Sucre to celebrate with their amazing banana and nutella gelato. But as the hour approached I found myself dreading it. I realized I didn't really miss sugar or desserts and I had felt so amazing with all the residual effects it has on me eating healthily. And just the thought of all those colorful neatly ordered pastries already had me whirling in a world of indecision. Is it so wrong that I was happy the place was closed for Easter Sunday?

Hm, maybe that's sick. Or maybe it's just normal. I'm tired of worrying about it, and I think everyone else needs to stop worrying too.