My Toilet Is Broken

Every Sunday I have a grand pep talk with myself. Big plans are formed, world problems are solved, long-term parking solutions are found. And, every Sunday, my mirrored-reflection gets the game plan. It usually follows thusly:

You are lazy.
(with sass)
Tell me something I don’t know.
You are going to resume running tomorrow.
(with continued sass)
That’s really not going to work for me. But, like, fine.

And so on.

You can see it takes a large amount of coercion and/or encouragement to retrieve my gym clothes out from behind the dresser where I last shoved them in great angst. But, nonetheless, the game plan is always in full effect.

Until something manages to derail my great hopes for a fresh start, clean slate, toned legs, sanity, you name it. Usually it’s my blatant refusal to get out of bed. Today it’s my broken toilet. Yes, I write to you from Starbucks this morning where I’m sitting in a plush chair after having used their facilities for my morning pee.

So happy Monday.


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