Seriously, technology rules

I have caved and ordered a Roomba off Woot.com, because I am weak, weak, weak. There is only so much one woman can take, and I've managed to avoid buying one of those things the past eight times they've been Wooted; apparently nine times is one too many for me. All hail my soon-to-be new robot overlord!

Got a shower head from Water Management, which would not be newsworthy if it were not for the fact that THIS THING RULES. We have notoriously bad water pressure, just as bad (if not worse) than our last apartment, and I finally resorted to looking for some kind of shower voodoo magick online. Lo and behold, I found this page, and lo and behold, my gamble paid off. It is a glorious shower. My hair is well-rinsed for the first time in about five years. I am so happy, I can't begin to describe it.

Other than that... well, I got sick. I've had a cold for about a week or two, and it's been escalating toward sinus infection territory. The wackiest part of this is that this has been causing me to sleep for about ten hours a night, plus occasional naps, and walking around makes me feel like my legs are melting. Yesterday I went to the doctor to beg her advice (and because I get so far into "I want my mommy!" territory when I'm sick, it's not funny, and for some reason the definition of "mommy" has of late expanded to include my doctor), and she gave me a prescription for high-octane decongestants and patted my shoulder and told me to get lots of rest (not a problem) and call if things weren't better in three or four days, or if my snot changed color, or if I ended up with a fever for several days in a row, or, you know, any sort of indication that I may need actual antibiotics.

The high-octane decongestants "might make [me] hyper", according to my doctor, and she warned me that if they did make me hyper that I might not want to take the evening pill and just go with the morning one. So what did I do? Right, I took the pill at 6 PM. HELLO, INSOMNIA. People, listen to your doctors.

Anyway, I've been going sans exercise for about five days now and I would be twitchy, if I had the energy to be twitchy. I'm mentally twitchy, let's say. It's very odd. I think it's mostly that exercise is an indication of normalacy in my life, and I miss being normal. The point of all this yammering is to say, "yay, I have somehow made it so that exercise is in my head as part of my normal state of being."

Did not order pizza or, for that matter, anything else yesterday while I was home sick. I did bake and eat the last of the french fries that were lurking in the freezer, but for that matter I was roasting some broccoli at the same time, so I'll call it a draw.

Hit a new low for my dehydrated weight this morning. Wackiness. Even more wacky was the fact that I was looking at myself in the mirror right before that and thinking to myself how delightful my current weight was, right before it occurred to me in a vague way that I'm still twenty pounds over what I ought to be; after that, it occurred to me that I didn't care, because the "delightful" part still applied. I think that I'm good with whatever as long as I'm eating well and living well. And, of course, as long as my pants fit.

My Hub had another panic over Eating Day, or rather (and this always happens with holidays) Eating Weekend. Free pizza on Thursday, company holiday party on Friday, then a friend's birthday party at the best Mexican restaurant EVER on Saturday. By Sunday morning my poor Hub was bemoaning his fate and pooching out his belly in order to poke it and point out its size. Ladies, I gotta tell you, I know I used to do this (and by "used to" I mean "can remember doing this about two months ago if not more recently"), but watching a six-foot tall guy slumping and poking out his tummy in order to look worse so he can berate himself for fatness is a hell of a wake-up call. It looks so silly, all I could think was "Dear God, I am never doing that again."

At any rate, as of this morning he's not only lost the last of the cheese and beef from the weekend, he's also lost another pound off his previous low point. I got another TOLD YOU SO moment out of that, which is always a precious thing in marriage.

Still no sugar. Still no coffee. Chocolate and candy and cookies and tins of popcorn are all still in evidence in the company kitchen. I'm still remarkably calm about all of this. I had a very bad day last week when I spent a lot of time considering breaking my sugarless vow, and I ate a whole bunch of fruit and resorted to my juice box. Juice is slowly easing away from my diet, by the way; some days I completely forget that I have it with me. It's taken me two and a half weeks to go through what used to be a one-week supply, so: good. Baby steps, folks, baby steps.

This continues to convince me that sugar is an addiction, at least for me. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, quacks like a duck... yeah, I'd say it's a duck. In this case, if my deep yearning for it goes away within a few weeks and only returns in times of stress, and if I feel better without it, then yeah, I'd say this qualifies as an addictive substance. Thank God I never ended up smoking or taking drugs, you know? For all that sugar and caffeine are addictive, I'm in no way going to put them on the same level with cigarettes, or cigarettes (as bad of an addiction as that can be) on the same level with crystal meth or something. I got off so easy with this. So, so easy.

Anyway. Must catch up with work. If I don't update before I leave on vacation, happy [winter holiday of your choosing] to all of you!