I had one job tonight. One.
Tomorrow I get my one and only chance to play “teacher” in college. I’m giving a presentation on a poet of my choice. Being the idiot over-achiever that I am, I decided to research a poet I’ve never heard anything about before in my life. So I picked Cornelius Eady.
Researching Cornelius was not exactly a waltz through a clover field. Our library has none, repeat NONE, of his seven volumes of poetry. Nor, it seems, does any library in the immediate area. So I was limited to encyclopedias and the internet. Our library didn’t even have any books about the poor man, because nobody writes books about poets who aren’t dead yet.
That’s right. This chap is still alive and kicking up in Washington D.C., teaching at a university and cranking out more award-winning poetry. To add another layer of interest, he once taught my poetry professor when she went to grad school. No pressure. No pressure at all.
And then my stomach decided to be hungry. I don’t know why it’s been so rebellious lately. I gave it everything it needed today: grains, veggies, lean protein, dairy, fruit—you name it, if it was healthy I ate it. I’ve been trying to cut back on snacking for the past two weeks because apparently the only thing people like to keep backstage on production night is sugary junk food, and the results of generating a sugar high are rarely good. Now my palate expects sugar, and I’m trying to train it to not want sugar.
But tonight I was craving sweets. I have a box of Russell Stover under my bed that I’ve been conscientiously resisting all week. I told myself I didn’t need it. I drank tea to fill me up. I munched on almonds. I did everything I could to resist. I was feeling horribly “eaty.”
Then the girl came down the hall with leftover birthday cake.
Now I have guilt. And a lot of icing in my stomach.
I guess I had two jobs tonight. One: complete preparation for the presentation tomorrow at eight. That’s done. Two: avoid eating junk food.
Failed. Failed miserably.
At least I went running today.