You all know what I'm talking about. We've heard it being preached a million times: "Everything in moderation." My dad's famous for saying that he's "addicted to anything they make more than one of." Whether or not we'd like to admit it, there really can be too much of a good thing.
But I try. Oh, I try.
And before too much time passes, I find myself nauseous from overdoing Easter chocolate, keeled over with stomach cramps from overeating broccoli in failed attempts at redemption, bleeding gums from flossing, sore knees from running, a huge Visa bill, noodle soup running down my chin and no eyebrows.
It all happens so quickly.
I need to realize much more often that it's okay to aim low. That I can always build on what I have but once it's out there, it becomes much more difficult to rein in. One of my favourite quotes is by a Roman authour from the 1st century B.C.: "I have often regretted my speech but never my silence." And isn't THAT the truth.
Andrew's parents brought us back some 100-proof vodka from the States, and, giddy with its power, we mixed ourselves some Ceasars, clinked our glasses and drank them down. However, much to our dismay, the vodka's power seemed to have more of an intestinal hold. Our romantic date nights rapidly went south, and we began to sip our potent vodka-drinks slowly, with a bit more respect.
Too much of a good thing is just that: too much. My hope is to chew slowly, floss gently, run healthfully, spend intentionally, and drink my Ceasars near a toilet.
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