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June 27, 2003 The HOV Lane to Hell I don't understand why I write these confessional entries, when it always causes Calvin to come home, read it, and then yell at me. If you define "yell" as LOUDLY rolling the eyes. I'm dawdling today. There is laundry to finish up, the entire house to clean, ten days worth of entry writing to plow through, and picture scanning of epic proportions to accomplish. There is a meatloaf to manufacture. The dogs could use a bath. It would probably be a good idea to work out this morning and get myself back into the routine before the three pounds I gained turns into ten. I really ought to sort through my coupons and come up with some meal plans, since my lack of planning has resulted in my second $120 grocery shopping run in three days (to my defense, we'd spent the last month purposely running out of things so we'd have less to toss out when we left for vacation). I made the MASSIVE mistake of purchasing "Harry Potter: The Order of the Phoenix" at the grocery store (40% off! What am I, superhuman?), and now all I want to do is camp out on the couch and read all day. Mind you, I haven't even so much as cracked it open yet, but the battle I'm enacting inside my mind has completely stimied any productive *molecules* (nod to Secra) I may have possessed when I woke up this morning. Mind you, those molecules were already few and far between. How strong am I supposed to be, anyway? How responsible? Didn't I get up in time to take Calvin to work at 6:30? Didn't I get the grocery shopping done and get home before 8:00? Didn't I womanfully avoid the carb-inflicted Einstein Brother's Bagels, even though they have the best Garlic Crusted I have ever laid taste buds on? I have not accomplished even one little bitty goal I'd set for myself for my time off. I won't even share the list with you (because, oh yes, I have a list). I'm too ashamed. Let's just say that the whole "good intentions" thing is bogus. The road to hell is paved with laziness. And I'm in the HOV lane, baybee! Okay, I'll read for just one hour, then I'll do my chores. Really. Okay, two. Tops. Swear. Calvin can't roll his eyes at me if my stuff is done before he gets home. Right?

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