Angelic

I’m no angel, but I’d like to be one for a week.

Here’s where that came from.  Saturday morning I saw that I had forgotten to shut down my laptop.  Nine tabs were open.  Nine.  The New York Times, Jezebel, Kottke, allrecipes, Chow, Yahoo, Pioneer Woman, Dooce, and the Atlantic.  Whereas twenty years ago I would have been engrossed in a book for the entire evening, instead I was “just checking in” at a few of my favorites, and reading deeply of none of them, for (I wasn’t paying attention but probably as long as) two or three hours.  Too much internet.

Saturday afternoon my brother and I went for a walk; we took a familiar route and pushed it a bit.  He later calculated our mileage and figured we’d done five miles.  What’s more, while we walked we made plans to work up to walking 15 miles in one go.  Now while this isn’t too much, it is a big goal– not as big as running 26 miles, and certainly a worthy and doable goal, but it’s big nonetheless and something my “let’s not be moderate” personality responds to.

Sunday, I woke up sore.  If I had been exercising more regularly, likely I would not have been so sore, for one, and for two, I later moved boxes and such for my mother in law, and more here at home looking for Christmas doo-dads, and felt a “klinkghk” in my back.  Through the night I suffered and ultimately will spend the day with painkillers and a heating pad, praising my lower back for being such a trooper through the abuse I give it (only Really Old People need to bend at the knees when lifting 40 lbs).

Finally, through the weekend I cooked a lot, stuff the newly cold weather calls out for: oniony and thick potato soup, a pasta casserole with italian sausage and ricotta, and snickerdoodles, which I’d been craving and haven’t made in at least 15 years.  I ate 12 cookies.  TWELVE.  Too much.

Too often I am all or nothing.   I can sustain a pristine, extremely healthy lifestyle for a whopping three or four days– then something, a sliver of resentment, a crappy day at work, a half hour too much of a “to do” list leaves me feeling sorry for myself and the only cure for that is a little too much wine, or too many cookies, or skipping the exercise I know I need, or staying up and reading until 1am, or grazing through NINE tabs on the internet.  It’s all too much.

So for one week I’m going to be insanely moderate: 7.5 hours of sleep each night, one half hour or more of exercise every day, no checking the internet but ONCE a day for email, vegetarian until five, omnivore in the evening.  For just one week.  Seems so simple.  What I know of angels is that they don’t run marathons.  They don’t have hangovers.  They are moderate, peaceful, quiet, not given to mood swings.  They don’t use the word “fuck” twice in a sentence.  I’m pretty sure about that last bit.  Just one fucking week; I’ll post a report when it’s over.

 

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