Monday, January 10, 2011
A gray day surrounds us. The weary sky is the color of the rinse water one might find in an old-fashioned galvanized wash tub. Lacking conviction, an erratic breeze is causing the awnings that hang out over the sidewalk to ripple in tiny canvas waves. The air is cold, cold, cold and stings the nostrils and lungs upon entry. It is annoying to have to invite in such an annoying guest. I'd rather be anywhere but here right now.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Breezy is angry because I would not commit to going to the gym and working out with her. It's snowy and cold and I do not feel like venturing out into the darkness. Besides, because exercise has not been part of my life for quite some time, I do not own the appropriate gear and accessories for weight training and using a treadmill. This makes me a horrible mother and also distinguishes me as the one responsible for ruining Breezy's weekend. It seems I cannot be true to myself without hurting someone else. I'm beginning to think I am a failure at interpersonal relationships. Why is being a parent such a constant struggle?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Today as I was walking to work I realized something that will affect the way I approach writing my blog. Heretofore, (love that word--its pompousness renders it silly) I carefully edited my choice of topics and labored to get every word just right. I worried about who would read my writing and how they might judge me and my prose. I agonized that perhaps no one would read it at all. But, today it occurred to me that writing is something I do for myself. It's what I do to express myself. Some people talk. Some people draw. Some people dance. Some people perform. I communicate most easily by writing. So, I guess you could say that my writing is a sort of conversation I am having with myself. Others can read my written narrative if they so choose, but they cannot determine what I will commit to paper (or to the screen, as it were). What liberty and ease I feel! Unleashed and eager to launch forward!
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
It happens every year right around this time. I take an assessment of the damages inflicted upon my physical appearance by too much holiday celebration. The toll this yule season has been extreme. I'm actually afraid to step on a scale. We're not talking about a weight gain of a couple of pounds here. I've packed on an extra 15 to 20 pounds that have settled on my hips, thighs and stomach. I feel wretched. I fear I have lost control. When I look in the mirror, a stranger gazes back at me. I must make a change.