We went on vacation. And I’m here today to tell you all about the fallout.
Because, folks, I fell off the wagon. I didn’t mean to fall off. I actually fully intended to stay on, with just perhaps an occasional cautious field trip off. Kind of like a cruise, where you mostly stay on the ship but dock once in a while to explore exotic locations, you know?
(Not that I know anything about cruises since I’ve never been on one and have a deep abiding fear of being stuck on a ship with that many germ-breathing strangers in close proximity, being forced into extroverted interactions against my will – not to mention the fact that you’re living over miles and miles and miles of deep, black, unknown depths of ocean with who-knows-what lurking just beneath you, just waiting for the ship to sink so that it can eat you up.)
But, anyway. The wagon. By the time vacation ended, not only had I fallen off the thing, but I had taken a sledgehammer to it and set it on fire. And then I hitched a ride on the Junk Food Express and left the smoldering pile of ash (that had once been the wagon) miles behind while I ate things like Mystery Jello Marshmallow Salad and Really Bad For You Cheesecake and (even) Not Real Meat Sausages. (I didn’t even LIKE those sausages, they weren’t even GOOD sausages, but I ate THREE of them for crying out loud!)
Yes. That’s how bad it got.
And, let me assure you…I’ve been paying for it ever since. All the old complaints (that used to be so normal I didn’t even know they WERE complaints) have returned. I’ve been home for two weeks and am only now starting to feel more like my old self.
So, let me be a cautionary tale. Let me take you on the progression of how my vacation morphed from a well-organized plan to stay on course into the utter catastrophe that it was.