Double Cheeseburgers, Crack and Puppies

Sunday I did yoga.  Les Mills Flow to be exact.  It felt good.  Yesterday I lifted.  In a very different way it also felt good.

Yesterday I ate no refined sugar.  Today I have been dealing with what I believe to be an ugly downward mood swing due to sugar withdrawal.  Or, yaknow, it could be because it sort of sucks to be me right now.  Or a combination of both.  But 48-ish hours in I feel the sugar craving subsiding.  That feels good.

Sugar is the devil you guys.  Seriously.

Today, on my way to work, I sang.  I belted out a really loud and very bad rendition of One and Only.  But it felt...you guessed it.  Good.

In my head I sound EXACTLY like this:

In reality I sound more like this:

After work I took The Puppy for a two mile walk on this lovely 60 degree early April Ohio day.  It felt really, really good.

Sunday I wrote.  It felt good.  Yesterday I didn't write.  It did not feel good.  So today, right now, when I should be focusing on what would be the 11th hour of my work day, I am writing.  The work isn't going anywhere.  There it sits.  Mocking me.

Neener neener neener....you hear it right?

So I just left the work on the kitchen table to mock the empty room, and moved my happy ass and my laptop to my deck to write and watch the sun set.  It feels good.

And you know what?  None of that cost me one red cent.  And none of it will add an ounce to my midsection, raise my cholesterol or my blood pressure or hurt another living soul.

So I have to wonder...why do we eat ice cream, and buy things we don't really need and gossip and fight and do drugs and smoke and drink until we feel like crap the next day when there are good things in the world like Diet Coke, and springtime, and first kisses and naps and puppies?

Can anyone explain this to me?

I read somewhere a theory that poor people are, on average, fatter than wealthy people not because healthy food is so expensive (which it is) but because we are programmed to pursue a certain amount of pleasure in our lives.  Wealthy people can fill their pleasure bucket with things like massages and vacations and fine wine and time to relax and us poor folks can only afford double cheeseburgers and crack.  I have to say I kind of buy that theory, but it doesn't have to be.  Money doesn't buy happiness.  Money buys puppies, and that's the same thing, but I got off track.  Wait they have puppies at the pound so again, my theory is valid.

So do me a favor.  As soon as you're done reading this, shut down the computer, get up and go do something that feels good, doesn't cost anything, and doesn't bring any harm to you or anyone else.  Then leave me a comment and let me know what you did.  I can't wait to hear.

Today's lunch:  Salad.  It was good.