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"I don't have time to be sick." I muttered that to myself when I woke up last Monday with a fire burning in my throat, chills running through my belly, clogged nostrils, and lungs swimming with phlegm. I didn't have time to be sick. I had a couple of meetings that I didn't want to reschedule. I had a looming deadline for a major project I'm leading. I had a million-item-long personal to-do list. I had a weekend full of plans ahead. I had goals that weren't ready to be put on hold. But, I suppose, sick doesn't care about any of those...

February was short, 28 days, but it felt, in many ways, much longer. February is always a weird month, a transition from gung-ho January into the reality of a new year. Over the last month, I feel like I got a little more lax with my "diet," it got a little harder to get up before sunrise to get myself to the gym. I mean, when you wake up, daily, to this, it's hard to want to get out of bed and leave your apartment. And, with the freezing Chicago weather, it's also been really hard to not want to spend the...

If you haven't noticed, I'm a list maker. I have my weekly to-do list full of tasks for my blogs and my personal life. I have my life list of all the things I want to do in my life. I have my 40 by 40 list of things I want to do before 40. I have my list of New Year's resolutions. Let's just say I love making lists. But, often, these lists I make are lists of things I want to do or plan to do or need to do. Rarely do I ever list out the things I have...

I sent Christmas cards for the first time ever this year. Every year I think about doing it, usually briefly, and then dismiss the idea. I mean, it's one of those things adults should probably do. Like buying a Swiffer and making unprompted dentist appointments. But sending Christmas cards always seemed like too much effort. You have to buy the cards. The perfect cards. You have to sign the cards. With the perfect greeting. You have to gather everyone's addresses. And not forget anyone. And then put all of those addresses on envelopes. And you have to figure out how one...

I took the last week off of work. My office was already going to be closed for two and a half days for the Thanksgiving holiday so, really, I was just taking 2.5 more. I have about a bazillion unused vacation days so I'm on that year-end scramble to use it or lose it that's also buying me an extra week off in December. I had no plans for my week off other than to snuggle with my cats and to get shit done. Because, really, that's my plan for every moment of free time I have: snuggle with my cats...

It had been over a year since I got a hair cut and my frock was getting "trapped in my armpits every time I move" long. That last time I got it cut, over a year ago, I had run to a train station Supercuts on my work lunch break to get a $15 discount trim. I don't even remember when, before that, I had last gotten a "real" cut at a "real" salon. You know, one of those salons where they actually shampoo and blow dry your hair. I don't remember the last time I dyed my hair either, but...

I make projects for myself. I would say, "I always have so much to do." I would say, "I'm always too busy." But, in truth, I know that, on some level, there are very few things on my ever expanding to-do list that I actually have to do. I just make things up and decide that I need to do them and add them to my to-do list. One after another after another. And then I panic, constantly, that I have too much to do, that I am always so busy. Because my to-do list is long. Long. ...

I knew I was fat when people stopped saying, "you're not fat," when I said I was fat. Maybe you know how it is. You know you've gained weight. Maybe you're ten pounds over what you wish you were. And you look in the mirror and think, "I'm so fat," even though, to everyone else, you look just the same as always. And so, when you say, "I'm fat," they all reply, "What are you talking about? You're not fat." But then you gain ten more pounds. And ten more. And ten more. And more. And then, somewhere along the way,...