Day Sixty-Two: The Wonder of a Cheeseburger

So I wrote a couple days ago about possibly starting a food blog, like the cheeseburger blog I saw. I also mentioned that it made me really, REALLY want a cheeseburger. What I didn't mention, is that my quest for a cheeseburger has not waned since then. I had a serious jonesin' for a beefy, cheesy goodness.

Despite the fact that I've eaten pretty much nothing but fruits, vegetables, and whole grains for the past two and a half weeks, I was definitely willing, although slightly sad, to break my health kick for one beautiful, loaded, drippy cheeseburger. So I set aside the salad I packed myself for lunch on Friday and got the cafe's Kobe sliders for lunch instead. They were minature morsels of cheeseburger joy, with little potato bread buns. But upon biting into the well-prepared small plate item, I was supremely disappointed. The cheeseburger had not been nearly as good as I remembered it.

I sat in dismay, disappointed that I had broken my good eating for something so unsatisfying. Yet, I was even more disappointed that I still had an extreme craving for a good, juicy burger. So I knew I would have to follow the old saying: if you want something done right, do it yourself.

So I traipsed to the grocery store and purchased a pound of mostly-lean ground beef and a pack of whole-wheat buns (there's no reason to not make a good choice or two, right?). I walked home, and faced a mild fear I have: cooking ground beef. I always grew up learning from God knows where that ground beef, if not cooked through, would probably kill you. And I heard from many cooking shows that cooking a burger brown would probably be disgusting. So with the little cooking practice and high enthusiasm I have, I had to somehow cook a burger perfect enough to quell my craving. So I seared the patty, let it sit a few minutes on each side, and watched as juices ran out. After about ten minutes or so of eying the meat suspiciously, I took it off the skillet and let it rest for a few minutes. Then, I began the burger-building process. I toasted both sides of the bun, layered some sliced onion, laid down the brown burger-y goodness with a melty slice of American cheese on top, then added a tomato and a pickle, ketchup and mustard, capped it off, and admired its beauty.

And then I ate it. I ate it in five minutes, and it was glorious.

Although the meat was a little overcooked, it wasn't dry. It had all the glory of a good burger, and although it was greasy and fatty and drippy, I felt only slightly unhappy about my unhealthy choice. And I really, really hope I don't want another burger for another long while.

But when in doubt, always eat the burger.

Day Twenty-Five: What's That? I'm Bleeding From the Eyeballs? Oh No, I'm Fine, Really...

I woke up this morning at 2 A.M. unable to breathe through a snotty, stuffy film that sealed thousands of germs inside my head. As I laid there staring at the inside of my eyelids and concentrating on my labored nose-wheezing, I tried not to think about getting up for work in four hours. So when my Ipod tinkled happily that 6:15 had arrived, I angrily pulled myself out of bed and contemplated the possibilities: go in, try to get through the day, and leave if I had to. After all, I had to go in early all this week to prepare for guests that arrived before office hours. So I popped a thermometer in my mouth for the hell of it (95.5...so my thermometer is broken. That's definitely bordering hypothermia.), pulled myself through the shower, ate a tasteless bowl of cereal, scraped off my car, and drove drowsily to work. After setting my car's internal temperature to a cozy ninety degrees, I felt just warm enough.

After I arrived at work and completed my early-morning activities, it was just about 8:30 when people began to arrive. When my co-worker saw me, she told me to go home. I didn't put up much of a fight. I called my boss, collected my purse and my box of tissues, and drove home. I pulled on my pink pajama pants and a hoodie and buried myself in bed until 11:30. Now, after being fed and medicated, I'm somewhat energetic, and bored. It's now that I'm pondering the fact that I am either slightly ADD, or becoming a workaholic. And I'm kind of a bad patient.

When I'm sick, I'll be happy to fill my person with as much medication as I can to make myself feel better without endangering my health further. I try with earnest to drink water all day, but I usually forget or can't be bothered about three glasses in and six trips to the bathroom. But worst of all, I get bored, and I get bored quickly. If I lay on the couch in front of the TV, or sleep on and off throughout the day, I feel worse. But the more I lay around, the faster I get better. But I can't sit still without feeling guilty, or like I'm wasting time, unless I'm really upset, or sometimes if I'm with someone else. And honestly, I act similarly on weekends. I hate laying around, and I hate sitting still for too long. So either this is a good thing that I like to seize the day, or it's terrible that I don't know how to shut myself off. My brain goes from the moment I wake up in the morning and doesn't turn off until I'm asleep. I'm always thinking about five different things at once, and I frequently start walking somewhere, think about something else, and either forget why I'm there, or start walking in the complete wrong direction. I clearly need to center myself and do yoga, or something. There's got to be something somewhat wrong with this.