My super hectic, exhausting evening.

That moment when you realize you're making a martyr out of yourself for doing things that everyone does every day (or for doing less than most folks)? I had it last night.
 
My work day
As I've mentioned before, and despite its many drawbacks, I try to walk on my lunch breaks. Yesterday, I did not. It was rainy and gray; I was sleepy, it was cold(ish): poor excuses that were nevertheless highly effective. As a result, from the hours of 8am to 5pm, I sat on my tush. I think that's about eleventy hours, right?

My evening
I decided since my butt was nearly numb from being sat upon for such a length of time, I'd better get some exercise after work. So I did. I got home, changed into some clothes I allow myself to sweat in, and knocked out a 30 Day Shred workout (Level 2 was on the agenda, if you're curious), followed that up with a shower, then got myself in the kitchen to get some dinner started.

On the menu was Bangers and Mash, which, if like Patrick you have no clue what that is, is what the British call sausages and mashed potatoes. A delightful combination, if you've never had it.

(Not-so-humble-brag: I make awesome mashed potatoes. Patrick will eat them without gravy, which is kind of like saying a pancake is good enough that you can eat it without syrup. Not that mashed potatoes are hard to make, but still, mine are good. End of not-so-humble-brag.)

While the potatoes were boiling, I started chopping veggies for the next night's minestrone. Then I got the sausages going while I sauteed some spinach to put something green on my plate.  Point is, I was doin' work in the kitchen. 

At some point during all my hustle and flow in the kitchen, Patrick got home and (God bless you, honey!) cleaned up the mess I'd made while chopping, mashing, draining, and mixing.

My moment of martyrdom
After what felt like ages, it was time at last--at LONG last--to eat. We sit, we say our prayer, then we dig in. Sitting there, I begin to pronounce how much I've done.

"Man, I'm pooped. I have been on my feet since I've been home. What time is it?"

Patrick peers around to see the time and tells me it's 8:00.

"So, I got home, worked out, showered, and then I've been in the kitchen, so I've been on my feet since, like 5:30--"

The moment I realize how pathetic I'm being
I pause, and it hits me: "'Waaaah, I'm so tired, I've been on my feet for 2 hours!' Geez, I'm lazy. I sat for 9 hours today."

Sometimes I just have to laugh at myself. (Sometimes Patrick laughs at myself, too. This was one of those occasions.)

I was whining about getting exercise, bathing, and preparing a meal for 2 people. I have no children. I work a desk job. I have a husband who freely helps cook and clean up after meals. I was still in bed before 10:00.

Clearly, I have it rough.

Do you ever have moments where you realize you're whining about things that don't deserve it?

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