Kit-Kat or No Kit-Kat?
I was working on a big filing project at work on Tuesday when I got to wondering, “Can a person be too organized?” One of the reasons I think my boss gave me this assignment is because he has faith in my ability to sort lots of documents into a more managable system. But as I was sorting through things, I kept wondering if I was being too specific, if I was splitting some documents into too many categories. That familiar paranoia was rearing its ugly head.
It’s on days when paranoia strikes that I reach my lowest points. If I don’t allow myself to do something about it, like going out to get some candy, or even something as simple as sitting down for a minute and taking a couple of Ibuprofen, then it gets even worse. Usually, I’m preventing myself from doing the things that would help me because I figure they’ll hurt me in some other way: If I eat too much candy, I’ll get fat; If I take too many painkillers, I’ll become addicted.
But honestly, my days work out far better when I simply allow myself the chance to be bad, to eat a bag of Kit-Kat Bites without guilt. And that’s what I did on Tuesday.
Which was good, because, by the time I got home, Stef was kind of sad, and for once I was actually in a good enough mood to be the shoulder for her to lean on, instead of the other way around. We did the shot and then dinner and then TV, and all the while I did my best impression of Johnny Sunshine. And I think it worked.
So, the moral of the story is that you should have candy when you want candy. Life is too short to be miserable.