If I were a braver writer, or a better one, or maybe if I'd only had a reasonable amount of sleep, I would take on the task of describing, point by point, what was so suckful about today, as a cautionary tale for myself.
But I'm not, and in any case I am tired, so I'll observe that in the course of experimenting with roast duck for dinner, I foolishly experimented with a recipe of butter cookies... and ate them all. (For the latecomers in the audience, my adolescent binging pretty much disappeared once I moved out of my parents' house... and butter cookies aren't on my diet. To say the least.)
So in the course of feeling lonely and stupid, I called my sweetie who is temporarily on the East Coast, and woke him up, and then claimed I was fine to boot. (I have a damnably hard time asking for help. The worse I need it, the harder it is.)
Sigh. Some days I need a keeper. I thought about calling my other sweetie, but Wednesday is his date night with his wife. Staying off the phone seemed to be the better part of valor.
Forgiving myself for the foregoing isn't working well, either. So I whined online and I have whined here and now I'm going to go to bed on the grounds that at least that can't make things any worse.