Every day at work I am responsible for going downstairs and collecting the mail, sorting it, and delivering it to the appropriate person in the office. Yes, even after four and a half years here I still sit on the bottom rung of the ladder. I don’t mind getting the mail really. In fact, I actually welcome the opportunity to get away from my desk for a few minutes and take a little walk.
My problem with the mail responsibility is that the mail boxes sit right next to the big, fat vending machine that is full of chocolate and salty temptations. There is no way to avoid seeing the contents of that cruel machine when I go to collect the mail. Some days, if the mail doesn’t arrive on time, I have to visit that room two or three times. Every single time I have to tell myself that I really don’t need any of that chocolatey goodness and I especially don’t need any greasy, salty potato chips.
I have worked really hard over the last six months to lose and keep off thirty-five pounds so I really can’t allow myself to indulge in that stuff. I sometimes think if I even look at it for too long the pounds will start packing back on. Some days I really want to give in, put my shiny quarters into the machine, and enjoy every bite of my prize that shoots out of the machine. Then I remind myself that I still need to lose another twenty pounds to reach my goal and suddenly all that junk in the machine just doesn’t look as good anymore.