I am a plans person. I like to have plans. Sometimes I'll write all my errands out for the day and even put down the allotted times. So this is how today was supposed to go:

Go to post office before work.
Check
Work.
Check
Go to Moto Photo to have head shots printed.
Here is where my life starts to unravel. The following is what was supposed to have happened:
Go tanning.
Make haircut appointment.
Work out.
Shower.
Make Chicken Cacciatore.
Make Meatballs for tomorrow.
Relax for 30 minutes.
Go to bed.

This is what really happened:
I went to Moto Photo, but they don't have a black and white lab on site. Oh, and by the way, they're closing for good tomorrow. So I get the phone number to the next closest MP and go home. I decide to skip tanning because I wanted to get my headshots taken care of. The sooner I can get them made, the sooner I can start auditioning. I call the other MP and they say they can have my pics ready by the weekend. Perfect. So I'm going there tomorrow. Then I get into my workout gear. This is a bit of a hassle because I have no cartilage in my knees and I have these huge braces to wear that are a pain to get on. I also have a heart rate monitor that I had to first locate and then attach to my body. Water and hand weights in bag--ready to go. I walk over to my apartment's fitness center. It is more crowded than usual and the two elliptical machines that are easy on my knees are taken. So I get on the treadmill. I hate the treadmill. It is mean to my knees. But it's better than nothing, and I figure I can warm up on it until someone leaves. But my treadmill is broken. I come home, frustrated. I don't have time to work out in the apartment before Paul comes home, and I don't like working out in front of other people. My sister doesn't care. Hell, she'll do it in a sports bra and underwear right before dinner. But, alas, I am not Lindsay. At this point, I'm starting to get a headache from lack of food. I am hypoglycemic and control it by not eating a lot of sweets. Except, what was last week? Oh, yeah, Christmas. Everyone brought in cookies and brownies and poundcake and sweet rolls and on and on. P.S. I have no self control. And it's the holidays. You have to try a little of everything. It's a law, actually. I looked it up. So I'm almost in a sugar coma by this morning. I eat very well at work. Good breakfast, good lunch. Orange for a snack. No sugar. But after a week of gluttony, my body does not react well to the cold turkey situation. The headache begins. Followed quickly by shaking and then an all out attack if I don't get food soon. I make egg beaters and toast. And now I cannot work out. Lindsay could eat Thanksgiving dinner and do Tae-Bo for an hour. I would puke my guts up. Well, at least I can make the Chicken Cacciatore for Paul and take the leftovers to work for lunch.

Who is the biggest moron in the world?

Oh, that would be me.

I put the chicken in the freezer last night when we got home from the grocery store. Nice move, hot stuff. So Paul has to fend for himself for dinner tonight. I did, however, make the meatballs. They are simmering on the stove for the next hour and a half. And that is the story of my day.