I am without cats as I type this post. Seems a bit odd…to not have them around. The room feels empty, less warm, less meow-y.
I miss them. But don’t tell them that, I don’t want them getting big heads. Well, maybe Lester since his head hasn’t really matched the growth of his stomach.
You can tell Lester.
Promises are easily broken I find. And the easiest promises to break are ones that you’ve made with yourself.
I promise to eat healthier, I promise to get up earlier, I promise not to cover myself in mashed potatoes and attempt to scare my friends’ children at their family birthday parties.
I still do though, make promises. I make them almost as fast as I break them (Which should be a line in a song or a poem or something…I’m thinking “banks” or “hearts” or something). Because while it hurts when I don’t follow-through, it hurts worse if I never made a promise at all.
I want to be better. To write more, to eat healthier, to exercise on the reg. I want all those things. In fact, I’d say that ever since I married Stacey there is nothing I want more than those things.
Oh! Maybe a boat. Or like 3 months paid vacation each year. I’d take those things as well.
So, there are things I want. Things I should be doing. For me and for the people I love. Not because the outcome of those promises matter to everyone else, but because the act of “keeping” that promise makes me happier and thus makes everyone else happy too.
(For the record, Stacey has never asked me to lose weight, she digs ma bod the way it is. But Jcrew…you sons of bitches…why won’t you carry size 38 pants in store…I HAVE BIG HIPS)
So if you were wondering why I’ve been posting so much lately (for me…not for normal people) and if you’re wondering why my bod has been considerably more rocking of late…it’s because I’m trying to keep my promises to myself.
So get ready world, for “before and after” pics and blog posts about nothing because this soft and chubby Spantalian is about to get hard.
Wait…You know what I mean.