It’s official. I am definitely going out of my gourd. I have been stuck in this house for the past six weeks recovering from surgery. I’m here to tell you that sitting around all day is not as easy as it looks, and that I’m going to end up in some padded room recovering from a lobotomy. Do people actually recover from those?

I have now watched every Matlock, Murder She Wrote, and Walker, Texas Ranger rerun in existence in the free world. The reason I have watched them is because I couldn’t stomach to watch one more Law and Order rerun. I have organized every cabinet, closet, room and filing cabinet in my house. I have done so much laundry that I actually came to the bottom of our dirty laundry hamper, which is something I haven’t seen in at least 10 years. Just as an aside, it does actually have a bottom. As if that is not bad enough, I have even folded and put away all the clothes. Every night before going to bed, I clean the kitchen. Even my plants are alive. I have completed every crossword puzzle in my home which is no small feat let me tell you. I believe that I can now confidently apply for a job as a crossword puzzle maker, or cruciverbalist, as they are called. And you thought I was just joking.

In between all the strenuous brain activity entailed in concluding all those crossword puzzles, I’ve determined that I should not be left alone for long periods of time because all I do is think about food. A long period of time for me is about 10 or 15 minutes. I don’t think about good food, either. Only bad food. The only reason my counters aren’t lined with cakes, cookies, brownies, and pies (well, ok, not pies. I don’t know how to make pies) is because my oven is broken, which, until this point, has been a good thing. I did buy some of that slice and bake chocolate chip cookie dough, though. I sliced it all up nice and pretty, arranged it ever so Martha Stewarty on a plate and ate it…..all. My daughter asked me for a piece, and I told her no. Not only that, I told her if I caught her eating any of my food she was going to be grounded at someone else’s house so she could eat their food and leave mine alone.

My husband ordered pizza for supper tonight but I only had one piece because he was irritating me. I sure showed him. After he went to bed, I went in search of the left over pizza, and lo and behold, I couldn’t find it. I guess I irritated him, too. So, for supper tonight, I had a glass of water, some strawberry Twizzlers and some dark chocolate with ooey, gooey caramel in the center. I’ll scrounge around a little later and see what I can find for dessert.

Last night, while driving my daughter and her friend somewhere, I almost stopped and bought a pie. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew the whole pie would be devoured before anyone else got home, and I have to draw the line at hiding the empty pie tin and box in the neighbor’s garbage can.

Tomorrow, though, will be a new day. I have a plan. I will get up and walk my normal 2 miles on my treadmill, which I haven’t done in six weeks. I will then go to the grocery store and buy only the things on my list and come home and make all the dinners that I have decided to prepare this week for my family. Then I will take a well deserved nap. My theory is if I am napping then I won’t be able to eat any of that bad food that will have mysteriously appeared in my cart even though it wasn’t on my list. I hate when that happens.

The more I analyze this plan, the more flawed it appears. You see, my entire family is never home for dinner because they are spread out all over the place, and the chances of my husband irritating me or vice versa are pretty good, so I’m thinking that instead of all that cooking, I’ll just go and buy that Easy Bake Oven I’ve had my eye on and bake the day away. Unless, of course, someone wants to save me from myself, but to tell the truth, at this point they all seem a little afraid of me because I just keep telling them I know they don’t really care about my well-being and what they really want is my food. Since that Easy Bake Oven barely produces enough food for one person, they just better all stay away. Far, far away.

Oh, and one final note. Can you believe my husband had the nerve to tell me he thinks its time I go back to work? I think he’s just jealous that he’s not a cruciverbalist or a gormandizer and that I won’t let him within 10 feet of my Easy Bake Oven, the big bawl baby.

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