I gave up this morning.

Twice.

I have some regrets and second thoughts about it, since I'd just posted about not giving up.  Now I confess my sin, I've given up.  

Cold sunshine rules the 36 F day.  Feels good as I walk, gloved up, coat and sweater on, cheeks, nose and ears demanding, "Where are my gloves."  The snow forecast has gained three to seven inches, and the snow level has stolen down to 3,000 feet.  

The Reader, Writer, Editor and Self-Esteem have continued their early morning conversation, becoming more like children and forcing a parent cap on my head.  "I give up," I said. "Enough.  We're not going to settle this on this walk.  I need to think.  You all need to be quiet now."  Everyone except The Writer cooperated.  The Writer always has a little more to say. 

He fell silent after some final snarky deliveries.  I was thinking ahead now, and not about stories or novels.  Savanah, the Beanery barista asked me yesterday why I drink non-fat milk, a question that launched a nutrition discussion.  She disclosed that she'd compared the Mexican Mocha and the Semi-Sweet and the Mexican has a lot more sugar and calories.  

Why, I was shocked.  Of course I wasn't.  I already knew what she was saying.  My wife and I have been label readers for decades, counting our calories, fats, sugars, and salt, maintaining that mental scale to weigh what we've done and what I'm permitted.  My Mexican Mocha is my one daily indulgence, besides my other indulgences.  But my conversation with Savanah started a slow train of thought in my head about my daily Mexican.  I've been indulging myself there while I've tightened down and limited myself on cheese, bread, beer, wine, ice cream, desserts, treats, cookies, calories, sugars, fats, sugars, salt in general.  I exercise to improve muscle tone, endurance, stamina, et cetera, and to look better, and feel healthier.  But here, I threw it all aside for my indulgence. It had to end.

Savanah was working today when I arrived.  "I'm not having a Mexican Mocha today."  

She stared back.  "What?" 

"I'm just having coffee."

Thoughts progressed across her expression.  "Why?"

"Just thought I'd take a break today."

Her stare continued. "Okay, I'll allow it," she said.  

It's a wincing moment, that she's working and serving me the day after her conversation.  This isn't her fault, and that's how most people react.  We had a good conversation.  She spoke the truth.  Her comments awakened the truth in me, pulling the blinds up on a window.  I don't want her apologizing for speaking the truth.  I appreciate that she did.  

I want everyone to speak the truth. Then leave it up to me to decide what to do with it.

There is my Sunday morning confession. I've given up today. I quit.

Twice.