Secrets to my success are never constant, just ask me. That exercise plan wherein thirty minutes a day, five days a week seems excessive, becoming three days a week, into nada, pure nothing. Can't say stretching and yoga didn't take its place on the spur of the moment, so did a rooted and centeredness become my calling.
Cooking is currently frozen at its nexus also, though I push forth with open-endedness, intent on past successes being the seat of my pants I fly on. Alas no, only my kitchen aid mixer has done all the damage what with pretzel bites, chocolate cupcakes, vanilla buttermilk also, and that buttercream with a stick of butter, three ounces of cream cheese.
So I can't say reflecting on an empty fridge hasn't somewhat restored me, complaining about extra watermelon seems meaningless, carrot sticks galore however, celery stalks out my ears, plus homemade ranch dressing. Doesn't make me a bad person that hardly anything speaks volumes, not the pork and beef I have frozen in the freezer.
But there's spinach, and kiwi, and lemon wedges. At four degrees, who goes to the grocery store? Not a feta cheese induced coma addict, nor the three pounds of tomatoes it takes to get there. Potatoes are needed at this very moment, to be baked and slathered in cheddar and bacon, which I don't have from Sam's Club either, missing frozen cherries and blueberries above all though.
Spring veggies have yet to allure, summer strawberries egging me on carelessly, and grilling that's impossible makes all the trouble. Gearing forward.
No comments:
Post a Comment