Background: Last week at work, we determined that today would be the day that we would make a run for the local mexican place for take out. “Fiesta Friday” we call it. I’m the instigator, so I volunteered to remind everyone to have cash on hand today and I’ll be gathering orders and making the trip to bring it back…
And this is where the confession starts.
This morning during my quiet time, my mind derailed to Fiesta Friday, not once, but NUMEROUS TIMES. And when I say derailed, I mean 40 boxcar pileup! What am I going to order (I’ve narrowed it down to veggie fajitas or veggie quesadilla combo)? If I worked out yesterday AND today would that account for my Subway cookie indiscretion (yesterday’s confession as yet unposted) AND a side order of guacamole (probably not, but it’s undetermined whether I will cave to the gravitational pull of avacado)? Will the sun be shining on my trek out? When I call to make the 10 or so orders, will I get the guy who typically recognizes my voice and refers to me in Spanish endearments (ANOTHER confession as yet unposted)? And of course, how will I manage to stay awake in the afternoon if I lose all self control and stuff every chip from the big bag into my gullet (not caffeine. not caffeine. not caffeine)?
I know, this is sad. There I was reading about loving mercy and walking humbly with my God and all I really wanted to think about was what will be happening in my day between 11am and noon. Clearly, Fiesta Friday was my idol this morning.