Oh lazy, drizzly Sunday afternoon, how torn you make me feel; I sooo love the coziness of the grey blanket of clouds overhead and the hibernating instincts it arouses. It demands a day spent in pajamas, watching a movie or reading a fabulously engrossing book, or even...divinely napping.
And yet, when one has the opposing plan of continuing the (so-far) successful New-Year Health and Life Improvement Extravaganza by working out, followed by a spate of vacuuming, then cleaning the bathroom before a shower and shopping, well--you can start to see how having one's instinct to hibernate 'roused would make a person feel conflicted, such that they don't know what to do; so, they remain, inert, literally paralysed with indecision, blankly staring at a computer screen.
Thus, an addition to the blog seems to be in order; perceived productivity without actually having to move. Hooray! Yay for compromises!
I keep thinking that I will become a more faithful and diligent blogger, but the difference in my thinking and what I actually do is--as shamefacedly difficult it is to admit--at times, appalling. This, of course, pertains to more than just writing. I always intend way more than I accomplish. And I feel bad about that. Should I?
I am not sure if this is a basic facet of human nature and to personalize it so indicates an ego in need of checking, or if my innate cat-like laziness is surfacing in unexpected places and my outer cat-like lazy ass just needs a swift, hard kick. (No volunteers, please--I am speaking somewhat metaphorically, if semi-coherently.)
It seems so difficult to achieve the balance in life that so many people strive for. I have really obsessed with the physical lately--the diet, calorie counting, menu planning, cooking from scratch, unending dishes; the work-outs and making sure I have clean work-out clothes--it seems to have utterly consumed me for the past month and a half. It's hard to imagine maintaining this level of obsession in order to keep maintaining this level of healthy behavior for life.
Make no mistake, though: this is NOT a complaint. I have lost 13 pounds, a pants size, 3-1/2 inches from my waist, and I feel so much better already. I have quite a ways to go, but I am looking forward to the time when the newness has worn off; when the healthier habits have become so ingrained that I don't have to think about them. Maybe then I will have time to focus on other aspects of life, such as the mental and the spiritual. I can't remember the last time I meditated, and I have gone since the beginning of the year without a seasonal altar, which I haven't done for years.
So, it's back to intentions again. I intend to write more. I intend to meditate again. I intend to practice my guitar more regularly (my fingertips have become as tender as a toddler's, to my chagrin). I intend to eat well, and exercise. I intend to be a good example to my children. I intend to stay cigarette-free (I am pleased to report only one fall off the wagon, but it was a fall I intended to take and I was able to immediately and nimbly hop right back onto the wagon and then back it over the carcass of that nasty fuckin' nicotine monkey--HA!). I intend to see more of the friends that I don't keep in very good contact with but think about all the time. I intend, I intend, I intend, ad nauseum....
Well, my friend called, and I have to head next door. He's been a little laid up recently, and I am one of a group of nattering women who are fussing about and annoying him, no doubt. However, he is currently incapable of doing some things for himself, and in order to keep his house warm, I intend to light a fire, or, (as he delicately puts it) "check his wood."
He can say that, though. I know what his intentions are.
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