I didn’t think this post would be so difficult to write. It’s very easy to get out of the habit of writing. You just don’t do it. You let the grandson play on the computer when you should take some time for yourself or you play mah jongg instead of writing or futz around on Twitter, or any one of a million other things. You let it slide. Just like you let your life slide, it seems. That’s what’s so hard. I admit it. I’m letting my life slide and I have no idea where. It’s really, REALLY difficult to write that. But that’s how I feel at the moment. I don’t know why. Nothing particularly momentous happened and all of a sudden I was oh, this is all just to much to bear. Yes, I know some of you will say taking on the grandson was a big deal. You’re right. It was huge. However, this feeling was manifesting inside me long before that happened. Maybe this latest thing was the proverbial last straw, but it definitely isn’t/wasn’t the root cause. I’m still trying to figure that one out.
But I’m working on it. I’m taking baby steps, again. This post, for instance. I have a couple of non-fiction ideas I want to explore for submission a couple of places. I considered NANOWRIMO for a nanosecond, and realized I wasn’t ready, but I can do small things. I’ve begun using the timer on my phone. Now that sitting apparently is worse than smoking (and WHO decided on that for God’s sake in a society that sits about 85% of the time now–there has to be SOMETHING to make us fearful, right? I am so over that), I’ve begun to set myself 45-minute intervals and then get up, even in the middle of a report, and use my resistance bands, do wall squats, bounce on my rebounder for 5 minutes, stretch, do a few yoga moves, whatever it takes to get me out of the chair. It’s helping, especially on the last half of my shift.
I started walking again, now that the weather is more conducive. Again, the timer. I set it for 15 minutes and walk till it goes off. Then I set the stop watch and walk back the way I came to see if I keep up the same pace. I do. I figured if I can’t give myself 30 minutes a day to get out of my head, what is the point. I don’t need fancy equipment, etc. There’s a perfectly good street right outside. I just need to use it.
I knew it was getting critical when I quit wanting to cook. True. Don’t care. I’m suddenly tired of trying to get nutrition into people who can’t seem to open a fridge and see anything that’s not convenient. E wants chips or Cliff bars, I can’t even get him to microwave stuff. G either forgets to eat until she’s nearly passing out, or she’s nauseated from the reflux so nothing is appealing. Again, baby steps. G found a fabulous recipe for homemade “cliff” bars that is SO much better than anything I’ve found in a box. Don’t have it in front of me, but I’ll post it, because really, you have to make these. They are great. And flexible, so you can customize them to your taste.
I’m trying not to complain. I have nothing to complain about. All my needs are met, and the vast majority of my wants, so I can’t figure out why this utter blah-ness for lack of a better term. Maybe I need a vacation? I don’t know. I just know I don’t like this feeling and I’m not sure how to make it better. Except with those baby steps, one word, one meal, one foot at a time.