I’m mostly back to my usual cranky self these days, and I’m not at all hindered in my rampant pessimism by basically melting every time I go outside. I’m already sick of hot. Cue winter. Winter is fine. Winter doesn’t give me dehydration headaches.
To improve my mood, I have decided that I need some structure. A little order. So, I’m going to make a list.
What I need to do this summer:
- Keep children occupied
- Organize the house
- Clean the house
- Do triathlon activities that seemed like such a good idea last November
What I have done so far today:
- Run (slowly).
- Drink less than advisable amount of water and get headache that starts over my left eye and runs down my neck.
- Make tea.
- Finish Hard Laughter. (I love Anne Lamotte. I wish I knew her. If I knew her I would be too shy to talk to her but hopefully she would see through it and be my new best friend.)
- Fall asleep in chair.
- Wake up when E finds me. Suggest we go back to bed. We climb into my bed and N comes downstairs and gets in, too. I fall asleep. E and N play with cat until cat claws me in the leg and we all get up again.
- Heat frozen pancakes.
- Sit at computer, surf internet, tell self that I’m warming up to writing.
- Decide to find Advil.
- Cannot find Advil because house is a mess and nothing is where it is supposed to be.
- Reheat old tea. Sit in chair. Dread inevitable trip to pool.
So pretty much the kids are watching TV and I am not doing a single productive thing. I did run, which was good, but my knee is ouchy again and my neck kinda hurts and I’m feeling oppressed by the notion that I should really lose five pounds. I don’t diet, per se, but I’ve come to realize that when it all comes down to it what you’ve got is also what you’ve got to haul around with you and a little less wine really wouldn’t kill me. I could also manage without my Sweedish fish allowance and it’s likely my life would not be too adversely affected without chocolate Newman-Os.
That aside, however, I’m missing my writing time. Not having writing time is making me cranky. But in the summer writing time for me ends up being TV time for the kids and the guilt makes everything feel clammy and selfish.
Aah, the joys of summer.