Some things just can't be put off or ignored. I've learned that I must unpack as soon as I get home or that luggage will remain packed for days. I can't put off the sort of chores I dislike or I'll put them off forever, things in work like adding new parts to the system, signing up for health care, doing the taxes.

I indulge in games about putting things off. "I'll write more tomorrow if I write less tonight." Nope. Doesn't work. "I'll eat less tomorrow if I have an extra piece of pie tonight." Sure, I whisper to myself with a snicker. "I'll exercise more or walk further tomorrow if I don't exercise today." Uh, huh, sugar, whatever you say.

So I was proud of myself Saturday. I managed to ignore my desires in Trader Joe. We were shopping but I'm as useful as ants at a picnic when we go grocery shopping. I want to go in, go to what I want, get them, head out. My wife dawdles, examining new and old products, pondering purchases and quantities, making plans and contingency plans.

Our shared methodology means I wander around a lot, waiting. So I roamed the aisles. I bypassed all the delectables, even the soft aussie licorice which induces salivating as I write the words. Stayed strong in the cookies, chips and chocolates. Gazed at the beer, wine, port, and cheese but bought nothing.

My wife found me with the cart. "Ready?" she asked.

I nodded. We headed for a line. "Oh." She stopped and looked back. "I forgot the....blah blah. Why don't you go ahead and get in line?"

Okay. I got in line. 

Up comes the wife. There, in front of us, is a small bag of dark chocolate peanut butter cups. "We should get a bag for the ride home," she said. She picked up a bag and put it into the cart and looked at me. "They're small bags, and they're only ninet-nine cents."

I nodded. "Get two. We'll save one for tomorrow."

She opened one bag as soon as we hit the road and gobbled up several. To quote Dorcas from "Larkrise to Candleford", "They're her one weakness." After an hour I had three. An hour later, my wife finished the bag. 

The next day she opened and ate the other bag as I typed. She never said a word. I heard her eating them (she was in a chair just a few feet away), and I figured since she didn't say anything, she was off to eat them all. Sure enough, a few hours later, I asked with feigned insouciance, "Where are the peanut butter cups?"

She returned a wide-eyed look. "I ate them. I was protecting you."

"So you sarcrificed yourself for me?"

She nodded. "Exactly."

Oh, well. I was amused more than anything. Hadn't liked them, to be honest. I haven't been eating many sweets recently and my taste buds have morphed. All I could taste was sugar. 

But the sugar was in me. Later, that night, as we read in the snug, the sugar nudged my mind, and my mind whispered to me, "Man, I could use a snack right now." My mind and I regretted our strength at Trader Joe. 

"I could use a munchie," I told my wife.

She looked up at me. "We bought Barb and Walt those dunkers. We could eat those and bake cookies and give them cookies. They'd probably like that better, anyway."

I stood. "Sold. Where are they?"

Five dunkers later (chocolate chip biscotti, covered with chocolate on the bottom), my willpower was restored. I've stayed true to myself since Sunday (wow, almost forty-eight hours), and I've exercised and walked extra distance. Woo hoo, aren't I awesome?

"Sure, awesome," my mind answered. "So if you're doing so great, why don't you go in and update all those characters, history and things you've created in "True Being"?"

The Writer groaned. "I don't wanna."

"You need to do it," my mind replied. "Less see, you've created a world, twenty-two tribes, two dozen characters. You're already going all over the place to find them, not to mention the terms and history you've created. You know you need to do it. Just do it and get it over with and then stay on top of it."

"Sure," the Writer muttered. "Easy for you to say. You like doing that stuff."

My mind didn't bother to answer. He knows how childish the Writer can be. But, the Writer has done as bid, and all can rest easy. Except now he's irritated because he didn't get any 'real writing' accomplished. 

There is no pleasing some people.