What was with me that I thought I needed enough Ritz Crackers to choke a horse in order to churn out a few (I mean, ten, friends, ten!!!) pages on my WIP yesterday?
I mean, sure. Snacking and writing go together like bread and butter (of which I ate inordinate amounts over the holidays.) Or anything and butter, actually.
But honestly, how much energy am I really expending. I’m trying to convince myself that mental energy is the same as physical energy. They’re both energy, right? Surely, a ten-page push has to be something like a marathon of sorts.
Somehow I suspect I’ll be sacrificing my body for this project. I can already see the yoga pants with the drawstrings loosened coming out from the back of the pants drawer. In fact, why do I even bother calling them yoga pants? They should be called writing pants. Or, more accurately, snacking pants.
Since I swore off cold cereal this year as a New Year’s Resolution (pretty much the toughest one so far), I’m stuck eating things like Ritz and dry roasted peanuts and bag after bag of microwave popcorn. I’m pretty sure these things have more calories and more destructive potential than an innocent handful of cold cereal.
The family size box of Marshmallow Mateys is calling to me from the cupboard.
I overheard my 5 year old daughter say at the breakfast table this morning, “Why do they bother putting in the brown stuff when all we really want is the marshmallows?”
A child after my own heart.
Now, pass the snacks. I’m back on task and cracking the WIP.
