I SHOULD WRITE SOMETHING
Cindy Maddera
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I don't want to neglect this space during this whole NaNoWriMo thing, but I'm having a hard time partitioning my brain. We had a pretty nice weekend. We took the Cabbage trick-or-treating, we ran errands on Saturday, and I spent some time at Terry's decorating sugar skulls with Heather and the boys. Michael let the Cabbage stay up as long as she wanted to Saturday night in celebration of the time change. I came home from Terry's and the Cabbage was in bed, but still talking. That was around 11:30. I did my final relaxation voodoo on her and there was no more talking.
Speaking of final relaxation voodoo, ask me how many times I've been on my yoga mat in the last week. Zero times. My mat is under my desk at work, in it's carrying bag and has not seen the light of day in over a week. I feel my ass molding to this chair as I type, growing exponentially with my inactivity. Even treadmill time was sketchy last week. It's recommended that you take at least 10,000 steps a day. I think I'm averaging something like 4,000 steps a day and even that feels like I'm exaggerating in my favor. Here's the biggest confession of all. I ate meat.
A couple of weeks ago, Michael bought some beef jerky from a fancy butcher shop that looked very much like Mike's beef jerky. All Oklahoma people will know this beef jerky. It's cured with crac. When he got it, I said something about Mike's beef jerky being something I would eat now just to taste it because it was so good and so Michael tore off a tiny piece of jerky and handed it to me. I ate it. It was delicious. I'm not going to lie. It was just that tiny little piece for taste. But then yesterday, my hot-n-sour soup at the Chinese place had bits of pork in it. I didn't notice until I had finished half the bowl. I shrugged and ate the rest. My stomach started hurting as we pulled into the IKEA parking garage. I may not have cared too much about the pork in my soup, but my stomach sure did.
In fact my stomach is noticing EVERYTHING now. We're unhappy with each other and I need to try a little harder to mend things between us. Like no more meat. If I'm going to commit to writing every day, I need to commit to 10,000 or more steps every day. Five thousand words equals an hour on the yoga mat. If I make an effort now, at the beginning of the holiday season that should be called Gluttony, maybe making a fresh start in the new year won't be so difficult. I've set my timer to go off every twenty minutes, signalling me to get up and move around. If I could fix a cattle prod to timer, I'd probably do that. Anything to get my growing gut and butt up and moving.
Timer just went off....gotta walk.