I admit it.
I am an addict.
I need help.
I need a 12-step program.
We drove two hours to a Chick-fil-a Grand Opening in Winston-Salem tonight.
This is after picking blueberries, squash, cucumbers, and beans. Going to Eleanor's and loading 17 landscape timbers that she no longer needed and installing her new a/c for her. Packing, loading, and unloading more than 150 empty canning jars. Taking my landscape timbers to have Bob, Vickie's husband, cut them in half so that I can build a compost bin. Feeding all the animals. Cutting all the hooves in one night except the four bucks (this is 32 feet, ya'll) and being kicked hard enough to see stars twice.
It is midnight and I am just getting ready for bed. This is three hours later than usual. My stomach hurts from eating so late, but I have the smug satisfaction that it was worth it. This isn't healthy. Even the staff from the district Chick-fil-a office is beginning to recognize us. And to top it off, I harrassed one store manager by insisting that there needed to be a Chick-fil-a closer to our house and confiding that I knew where some land that is just perfect for their store is for sale and I had an inside track to the owner and could assure him that it this could be a great deal for all concerned (how brazen!).
I confess. I need help.