Confessions of an American Diet Coke Drinker

Hey Barbara, remember how I said that I wouldn't go to the kitchen to get a diet coke in the morning if it meant that I had to actually walk from one building where I was sleeping to another building where the kitchen was? How I said that involved too much effort?

I take it back. This morning I got up and realized there was no more diet coke in the house, and I freaked. So I got both kids dressed (though Judah had no shoes on), got myself dressed (if you count yoga pants and an old fleece shirt that double as pajamas as "dressed"), strapped both boys into their carseats, loaded up the car, and drove two miles to the nearest Del Taco and ordered a 32 ouncer of my favorite poison (as Jeff calls it). When Judah saw where we were going he said "We need diet coke!" Too right. How addicted am I? Is there a twelve step program for this? I might need it.