Day Nine: Sometimes You Are The Spider

Sometimes you are the fly. Sometimes you fill your entire apartment with smoke trying to sauté a chicken breast. I think that would be a case of being the fly, and yesterday I was most DEFINITELY the fly. Because once I was coughing dramatically while my lungs filled with smoke*, I was not feeling empowered or anything remotely spider-like. I was feeling like I wanted to cry and throw the stupid chicken in the stupid trash and curl up in bed with some Cheetos or Red Vines (DAMN IT, RED VINES!) never to be heard from again.

Luckily, I've learned over the last few weeks that pouting and eating are not the answers to life's problems. Also, I threw away all the Cheetos in my apartment and ate all the Red Vines during RV-Gate last week. So while I searched high and low for some scrap of junk food I had left myself, there wasn't any to be found. Actually, there was still a box of Girl Scout cookies in my freezer, but despite my sad-rage, I still managed to check the ingredients, see they had dairy, and put them back. That is progress, people! Progress!

I finally sat down with some very not-gluten-free but still healthy and multi-grain and not-sugar-coated cereal, sans milk, and even though it did nothing for my taste buds, it let me eat my feelings without consuming two days worth of calories. I feel super accomplished, guys. Like, so proud. Of course, since I had ruined** dinner, I then stuck some chicken wings in the oven and called it a night on cooking. But I tracked my chicken wings. And didn't feel remorse for eating them because, at that point, I was just hungry, and it was the only readily available food that I had left. Note to self: buy emergency foods for when dinner doesn't turn out so great.

So there is my lesson learned about being the fly, and not letting it ruin my life. I didn't let the spider eat me. Maybe take just a little nibble, but then I said, "Screw you, spider!" and flew away. I hate spiders. I hate this analogy. I hate myself a little bit right now for even using it.

*Please note I am being horribly overdramatic. Yes, I filled my apartment with smoke, and yes, it made me cough. But it wasn't nearly enough to do irreparable damage to my lungs. It didn't even trigger the smoke detector.

**Dinner was not ruined, I was just being a crybaby. I ate the salad I made the chicken for, WITH the chicken, for lunch the next day. It was fine.