I have to write, but I also have to write this because it’s taking up an excessive amount of space in my brain. Okay, darlings, no fucking around.
Things you DON’T need or even care to know, but things I will tell you nevertheless:
Last night, I rode the bike to the Green Butterfly song, felt earnestly great about pushing myself to 200 calories burnt, felt happy and progressful and good about it. It might have been Sunday Syndrome or something else, but I am fairly certain the exercising so late in the eve meant that I couldn’t feel the slightest bit tired even when 2am rolled around. I am sure that I must have slept, though I kept waking up so that I was awake again a little before my first alarm went off – the one that was going to get me up and rolling again on the bike. I laid there, instead, for the next hour feeling as though I had been tethered to my bed, to keep me from floating through the ceiling. Work, as you can imagine, went super well as a result.
I just am really, really, really off my game. You may ask if I have ever been on my game, but I can’t reach you with this wooden spoon so you’ll never be witness to my utterly amazing feats of dexterity when it comes to beating you senseless.
The day wasn’t bad, it just was me being lame against the usual backdrop. Actually, when I think about it, it was a lovely day. If only I had gotten my act together.
Such as my birthday work lunch. I had half-forgotten and when I was asked what I wanted – I had no new diet gameplan. I stared at my boss blank-facedly, knowing she had a hundred things to do, so she suggested Chipotle and I thought….eh, uh, um, ah, well, sure! Oddly enough, after a month away from the stuff, I think I could almost take it or leave it. I knew it would be a calorie bomb regardless, so I just ordered the best options and swore I would make sure to track it. I should have picked a salad. I should have not gotten guac. It was too much, but even so, I would have just squeezed in under the calorie total if I wasn’t also presented with a cake. 1/12th of the tiny half-sheet cake was 300 calories. I blanched. Aware, but still, frustrating that social mores really dictated what I ended up eating.
I need to take hold of the power of no.
This is silly. An artist co-worker gave me some collage art of his, which I adore, with turtles and Basquiat references. I felt briefly there, engaged and in the moment, rather than tied to my tether again.
Ah, life and time and snow, I got the X-Files on, I got my book on my kindle, I got random cookie recipes to make when we go on vacation (not before, mind you), I have to find 10 minutes of physical activity and the bike is closest to hand, so that will probably have to do. Gentler, though.