The guilty pleasures of fast food...

Sorry for the delay in updates. This week has been extremely busy for me. After this weekend, though, things should return to some degree of normality.

I usually don't eat that much fast food, but sometimes I feel like I absolutely need it. If it's late at night it seems more reasonable to me, for some reason, to go to Wendy's or Taco Bell instead of going home and having a bowl or cereal or making a sandwich. Why is this?

The last couple of times I've been sitting in the drive-thru I've been fortunate to catch myself in the act. I consciously think to myself, "OK Adam...you still have time to just pull out of the line...you don't have to do this." I think in response, "Stop being such a nit, Adam. Enjoy yourself, treat yourself. You like it so why not embrace it?."

But do I really enjoy it? Is the dollar menu at Wendy's really a treat? I mean c'mon...If I wanted to indulge in a enjoyable meal and treat myself, it should stand to reason that I would go home and grill some blue cheese burgers on the Foreman and toss a thai salad. But of course my carnal nature gets the best of me. After all that dialogue; being able to logically deduce that eating the fast food will benefit me in no way in terms of money, health, and ultimately joy, I am unable to just drive away...

The real nail in the coffin is when I finally reach the window and I see an unruly character hunched over with his/her shirt un-tucked, a toothpick in his/her mouth, and some foreign, crusted over substance on his/her collar. I see the people working in the back. They are working furiously to push and pull my food out of the microwave, slap some toppings on, and literally throw it in the bag. This is what I waited for? Why am I even here?