I am my own worst enemy.

Yeah, the clock may read 10:00pm, but it's late in my world, and if I was good at taking care of myself, I'd be doing some before-bed rituals like washing my face, or reading a book, or doing whatever people who are nice to themselves do before bed.

Me?  I'm a glutton for a punishment and your classic over achiever (bad combo, by the way), which means here I am--writing.  And I'll do that before-bed stuff later, in a rushed fashion, so that I can get my blogging in.  Can you say, "priorities?"

For some reason this evening the lyrics from The Sound Of Music's "My Favorite Things" were playing in my mind.  Maybe it's because tonight I was listing Tuesday's favorite things, which if you want to know what they are consist of: bread, chapstick, balls, Papa, bread, anything that comes in pairs--socks, rags, hot pot holders.  Oh, and did I mention bread?

Anyway.

Those lyrics go like this...  Wait.  Before I tell you the lyrics, if you haven't seen the glory that is The Sounds Of Music, stop reading my ridiculous blog and go watch it.  Now.  And also discount what I am about to say.  I wouldn't want to take away from your experience.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

Really, Maria?  That's all you got?  Come on.  Even a one year old can do better than that.  The Fraulein goes on, but seriously I can't even go there.  I mean, the woman says "schnitzel".  I'm half German and even I can't stomach that.

Now bread?  That I can stomach.

I guess it's hereditary.

And on that note I'm off to bed. Which rhymes with bread.  Hmm.