So I’m sitting here, staring at my grocery list.

It’s an extra challenging grocery list because I’m currently shopping for one.

When Justin leaves town (as he’s prone to do — gotta love that military), one of two things usually happens:  Either I become super motivated, finishing loads of house projects and writing assignments and exercising daily and cooking up all kinds of awesome and delicious girly dinners-for-one that I know Justin would probably not love if he were here, or… I become super un-motivated, letting personal and professional deadlines slide by unnoticed, cooking any convenience or comfort food I can think of including boxed macaroni and cheese, grilled mozzarella sandwiches, oven-broiled nachos, or basically anything with — you guessed it — cheese, and slovenly sitting in my own filth on the sofa watching the complete box set of Sex and the City (all six seasons) for the 27th time.

I never really know which Katie will appear until he’s gone, so there’s no way to properly prepare my pantry or agenda until it’s too late.

This time, we’ve been graced with the motivated Katie.  Today she’s already cleaned the kitchen, folded her laundry, taken the dogs on a 3 mile walk, finished 2 freelance assignments, edited photos she took for a friend and burned them to disk, and thought about doing her taxes.

Hey.

I’m a procrastinator.

Some things will never change.

But now I’m stuck.

I’m looking at the grocery list I’ve begun for the week, and it doesn’t look very promising.

If that’s not the shopping list of a Domestiphobe, I’m not sure what is.

The bacon will likely be used in pasta carbonara, a recipe I love to make when it’s just me, a glass of wine, and a chick flick.

The milk is just in case I have a weak moment and turn to the mac ‘n cheese.

But other than that, I’m at a loss.

On the positive side, I can eat anything I want.  But on the negative side, I can eat anything I want.

There’s no one to look at me with judgmental eyes — eyes that say, “Are you sure you want to make that chocolate peanut butter cream pie and eat the entire thing yourself for dinner?” while glancing down at my waistline to see how close I am to busting a button, which has been known to happen.

Not that Justin would ever do that, if he knows what’s good for him.

And I’m pretty sure he does.

So.  While this bacon guacamole grilled cheese sandwich looks like it would be a suitable replacement orgasm-giver while he’s away, I probably should pace myself.

This gastrogasm recipe courtesy of Kevin from Closet Cooking.

But it looks so amazing.

It might even beat the aptly named Orgasm Panini from a post of yore.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

So… um… Kevin.  What are you doing later?  Want to come over and make me a sandwich?

A nice, hot, gooey sandwich?

No, really.  I just want the sandwich.

No funny business.

At least not until after you leave and I’m alone with my sandwich.

Okay.  So maybe I’ll indulge every now and then.  But I’m pretty sure indulgence is the key to happiness.

My point is that eating alone doesn’t always have to mean Easy Mac and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  I’ve written about this before.

So I intend on sharing my personal indulgences as they come — simply to show you that the work I do for myself isn’t really work.  It’s a deserved reward after a stressful day.

And that makes aloneness a little less lonely.