Sundays not so sunny.

My legs are sore, not just from thinking about the days ahead, but from the exercise that I have recently picked up. I don't understand the need to burn off food that I so happily ingested. It seems so counter-intuitive.

I want it to be clear that, once I get a man, this is all over. It's like torture for the singles; it's discrimination for those of us with a love of cuisine and fast food whose metabolisms went on strike somewhere between sophomore and junior status as undergraduates. Our metabolisms must have walked out the door along with the under-appreciated elasticity of our skin. Remember that?

Except for my reappearing cheekbones, I am left with little motivation to continue starving after 6PM every evening. Diets should have been declared a sin right along with adultery and coveting. Both encourage despicable behavior. (Okay, so I'm no stranger to coveting. Not the point.)

Unattached as I am, I am left with no mans for miles. Not one. I guess that I shouldn't be surprised by all of it. I am happier this way. I have driven them away. Men, however, have served as a principal motivator for me. How unhealthy (not to mention pathetic) is that? It is the potential for a man that has driven me to not eat as much. The possibility for another failed relationship/rendezvous is thrilling! It's so thrilling that I'm now grilling, instead of frying. Oh yes.

This is fun, but it must come to an end, at least for the night. If I want to start off on the right foot, I should get to studying. This is looking like it'll be a busy week: five days of Greek (with a 20% chance of a pop quiz), four other classes, three days at the law firm, two babysitting jobs, and a Jewish holiday (Tu b'Shevat) in a pear tree!