The fact that I did everything wrong today is probably good news in the long run. I mean, the idea that I got through a day like this might mean that I’m in better shape than I thought. Although I haven’t quite finished surviving it yet, have I?

My sleeping pattern lately has been so off-the-chart ridiculous that I needed two naps just to make it to a time when I could start winding down for tomorrow. I don’t want to belabor it, because I’ve probably had days that were this bad or even worse, but things seem to be catching up with me. The best-case outlook is that I’ve hit rock bottom and can look forward to better days ahead.

For some reason, I ate everything in sight today. I couldn’t stop myself, and when I couldn’t find any more bad things to eat, I rewrote my grocery list for tomorrow to add even more garbage, so that I’ll never run out of pizza rolls and Eskimo pies again. Not until I have another day when I eat them all at once, that is. By tonight I couldn’t even look at a salad, I was so stuffed with cheese puffs and chocolate bars.

It doesn’t seem possible that it could get any worse. And yet, I probably don’t feel as bad now as I will tomorrow, when the reaction sets in. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I have to suffer to get back on track.

No, what I have to do to get back on track is sleep. That’s for starters, anyway.

Really, the day should be defined by what I didn’t do. I didn’t open up a single spreadsheet, nor did I do a lick of work. I sat and watched football, mostly, except when I was sleeping through it or getting up to get something else to eat.

If this is rock bottom, it’s not such a bad place to be after all. I kind of enjoyed the decadence of the whole thing, but I like even more the notion that I’ve now got it out of my system. Tomorrow is another day (assuming I go to bed and sleep for a few hours between now and then).