My workout plans haven't gone so well. It's always the first and last thing on my schedule, but I can't bring myself to doing it. Today I made it as far as the mailbox when these guys passed me in a car. I felt fat and stupid--and the smirk on their faces didn't help. Who was I kidding? So I turned back around and went into the house and sulked.

On my way in, Mr. Tibbs asked if I'd retrieve his mail. IT"S SUNDAY for crying out loud. Not only does he check his mail on Sundays, but he checks his mailbox 3 to 4 times a day. Our mailman delivers our mail like clockwork--1:25 sharp. If Old Man Tibbs knows what hour the mail is coming, why does he visit the box 100 times a day? And why am I always doing SUNDAY mailbox runs for him. Mom needs to place a memo under his door: OLD MAN Tibbs, mail IS not, WILL not, WON"T ever be delivered on Sundays--period!

What I wouldn't give for a chocolate bar. Mom picked me up to do some grocery shopping yesterday. Watching her fill her cart with healthy foods totally turned me off from the bag of Oreos I was eyeing. I mean, they were on sale! TWO for $3. What was I thinking? I could use those right now. I should have gone shopping alone, but then mom would have asked why I hadn't go with her.

I don't want to go to work tomorrow. I don't want to face Miss Bombshell or Keith. I'd rather bungee jump my fat ass off of the building instead. With my luck I'd land on my face and only look 100 times worse than I already do.