The Joys of Being a Quitter

Dearest Rachel –

I woke up this morning to the quiet darkness I’ve known all along that I appreciate for a good night’s sleep, after having had to deal with yet another tiny nightmare of Mohinder berating me for being a quitter. Given my surroundings, I was looking forward to rolling over and putting on another dream so as to forget the one I’d just endured. After all, it was pitch black around me; I figured it must be between one and two in the morning, allowing me ample time to get some more sleep before I felt compelled to head out to the gym. At the same time, I needed to get up for a moment for some water, so I decided to check the time while I was up.

Imagine my dismay to discover that it was already four thirty, and I could (and probably should) have hit the gym right then and there. I realize it’s already been a month since midsummer (although why is it called that, when it’s basically considered only the start of summer?), but it was a shock to experience such darkness at such an hour. Maybe the old line about it being darkest just before dawn is more accurate than I’d ever thought.

So what did I decide to do, you might ask? Well, after getting myself some water (and weighing myself – which was a less-than-pleasant experience in and of itself; dinner at the folks’, while always lovely, doesn’t do me any favors with my efforts to reduce, although I am still below my recently-established ceiling), I dropped myself back into bed.

Guess Mohinder was – and still is – right about me, loathe as I am to ever admit that.

At the same time, I was up and out of the house less than two hours later, and already a pound and a half lighter than that first wake-up call even before leaving. And after putting in over an hour of weight training and walking (mostly the latter, but enough of the former that I could feel it), I was back under my psychological barrier of a hundred kilos that I’ve managed to hit every weekday this week. For being a quitter, I’ve done pretty well for myself.

The nice thing about having been a quitter is that I don’t have to rush off to a job anymore; I can take my time preparing breakfast now and again – although, truth be told, my bachelor status leaves me usually content to just pour myself a bowl of cereal and have done with it. But I was all too conscious of the fact that we’ve had various ingredients languishing in the refrigerator for far too long – well, not long enough for them to be a danger, mind you, but longer enough that there’s this feeling that “something ought to be done about these” every time you open the door and see them, only to promptly forget about them as soon as you close the door again.

But this morning, I walked out of the bedroom after getting dressed, noticed that Daniel was up, and asked if he’d care to help me work on these items by letting me fry up a complete breakfast for the two of us. His response might not have been what someone else might call enthusiastic, but given his phlegmatic nature, it was more than sufficient for me to consider a ‘go-ahead’ signal.

After coming to the kitchen and expressing further approval at the finished results, Daniel took his half and stuffed it into a tortilla to make something of a cross between a burrito and a roti out of it, while I broke out an assortment of hot sauces I’d gotten from Lars last Christmas (or was it the year before?) and poured a hot of the Cajun style sauce on the mixture to accompany the andouille. For once, I’m starting to understand why some people like to pour this on their eggs, although I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept the idea of using plain old ketchup for such a purpose.

Anyway, such are the joys of being a quitter, honey. I really need to take advantage of these opportunities more often. But until I do, keep an eye on us, and wish us luck; I’m sure we’re going to need it.