Time to Come Home

Dear Self Control,

I hope you are enjoying your vacation.  I don't remember discussing your decision stay in SE Asia after I returned home, but I hope it's been fun.  However, you are needed back at the ranch.  Pronto.

Without you, I am becoming a shadow of my former self.  You are what helps me plan a day and follow through on it.  You're the one that forces me to get out of bed even though I'd prefer to stay in it until late in the afternoon.  It is you that would encourage me to unpack my bags and put everything away (as well as do the dishes and pick up the plastic ware that dumped all over the floor earlier this week, and put the art supplies back in the closet instead of leaving them scattered on the kitchen table).  Things just aren't the same without you.  I've gone to the crappy taqueria three times this week.  Three times!  If that's not a cry for help, I don't know what is.

There is a little good news.  I found my robe.  To celebrate, I wore it instead of my pajamas today.  I also got a new phone, which gave me the excuse to not leave the house again (making it a full 48 hours of never setting foot outside of my apartment...even to check the mail).  Oh, and I DID lose 12 pounds while we were together on our trip, but since you're not around, it's creeping back on...at the speed of light.  I already made one batch of brownies this week, and I'm seriously considering a second.  So, you really need to come back, if for no other reason than to make me go the gym.

Now, I realize that this plea may seem a little harsh, and I know that the responsibility isn't yours alone.  I'm not working, and nobody seems to want to hire me which is certainly taking its toll.  But I feel like if you come back, I might be a little more productive (especially since I can't in good conscience claim that catching the entire NBC daytime line-up on a daily basis as being a productive activity).

So that's that.  I'm glad you're off on your own, but I need you back.  Don't make me start singing sappy love songs.  This is serious.

Yours in Temporary Slobitude,

Little Miss Messy