Today I had my first physical therapy appointment. I have committed to an action, to being in action and having a place to be twice a week. Hey, it's a start.
I liked the therapist. She seems very on the ball and knowledgeable about Fibromyalgia, my condition. She said all the right things, you know, those things you don't want to hear.
Her: "How much do you move around during the day?"
Me: "Not much if I can help it."
Her: "No, really, like how much moving around do you do with housework and stuff? Cleaning? Vaccumming?"
Me: "No, really I don't do much of that."
Her: "Oh, okay."
No, I don't do much. I told her about my mom passing away. I told her about being pretty shut down, so shut down that I really *haven't* been doing much. And yes, it is cyclical. I feel pretty badly wholisitically and I haven't felt like "moving" on. Moving period.
In response to this, she gave me some homework: walk more (short walks just to get the blood circulating again) and... give up sweets.
DO WHAT?
Oh hell.
I was going to do this. I was going to give it up again AFTER I was all done being pregnant. Being in grief. Being in pain. LATER. Not NOW. *sighs*
Guess I will have to give up that comfort. I want to feel better. I put myself on this path on purpose. And when I did give up sugar (about a year ago), I lost 40 pounds and felt pretty good.
(I just bought Girl Scout cookies, for crying out loud!)
I felt really good. Sugar is evil. It's hard to give up. (wah wah wah)
*sighs*
Good-bye cokes, I will miss your effervescent ways and how you make my tummy feel better. *sniff* Actually, Betsey told me to give them up slowly so I won't give myself a migraine. Okay, so it's not good-bye yet. Baby steps, this will all be about baby steps. At least I do know that I will feel better in the end.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
Choices
It's the end of "The Bachelor" and I am glued to the TV. It's my mental popcorn. You know... light and fluffy with little nutritional value.
This actually goes back to the conversation I had with my dear husband last night. Why do we choose who we choose? (And why do nice guys seem to finish last?) It's a powerful thing... choice. We all want to be chosen. (This conversation began with "Grey's Anatomy" which I LOVE.) You want to say "Poor George" but not really. George deserves a woman who can see him for who he is and love him. He's the nice guy. He's everything a woman wants, but not necessarily what we chase. In review of my life and the people I dated, my husband is a bit of an odd choice at the end of the day. An odd choice, because he didn't fit the mold of the other men. He was different, pleasantly refreshingly different. Which is why I chose him. He chose me first, took the risk like George. I had the clarity to choose him back.
Why do people choose each other? Really I think it's a complete mystery. We can think of reasons why we do, and reasons why we don't. But... at the end of the day, the choice is made.
This actually goes back to the conversation I had with my dear husband last night. Why do we choose who we choose? (And why do nice guys seem to finish last?) It's a powerful thing... choice. We all want to be chosen. (This conversation began with "Grey's Anatomy" which I LOVE.) You want to say "Poor George" but not really. George deserves a woman who can see him for who he is and love him. He's the nice guy. He's everything a woman wants, but not necessarily what we chase. In review of my life and the people I dated, my husband is a bit of an odd choice at the end of the day. An odd choice, because he didn't fit the mold of the other men. He was different, pleasantly refreshingly different. Which is why I chose him. He chose me first, took the risk like George. I had the clarity to choose him back.
Why do people choose each other? Really I think it's a complete mystery. We can think of reasons why we do, and reasons why we don't. But... at the end of the day, the choice is made.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Paths
So I keep reading these blogs and thinking "I could do this" and so here I am.
Why is it that I can blog in my head for the past hour as I move about the house, but I get this damn window open and my mind draws a blank. Convenient, eh?
I would say I am a writer by nature, a narrator, but little is actually written. Because of this. Because each time I sit down it just doesn't come. But I am working on this. Here. Now. Writing for writing's sake.
I am kicking back waiting for our dinner guest. There is SO much stuff I could be doing, but it's not gonna make a huge difference. You see, I am chronically disorganized.
So chronically disorganized that there are literal paths through my home. One way lanes, if you will. My son, G wanted to show off his room to Robert, our dinner guest and long time friend. G's room is one of the worse offenders. Things have been just shoved into the open door. There really aren't any paths in there currently. It's a shame too. His room has long been my favorite room of the house. It was neat and orderly and exhuded this sense of peace. I loveed being in there, putting clothes away and such.
It's strange these paths we take in our lives. Stranger the ways in which they are drummed back up and thrown to the surface. We take the tougher path, because that makes us stronger, gives us a stronger sense of accomplishment. We know the tougher path gives us more love, more satisfaction. We make fun of those who took the easy way. Simple and straightforward. We wonder why we didn't choose the route. We wonder why we just have it be easy. A path is a path. A path teaches us, easy or hard.
I want the path of ease too. I want to get over chronic disorganization. I want cleanliness. I want order. I want ease. I want to know where I can go to get my book. My flashlight. My keys, for god's sake. Easy paths. It's such hard work to get there. (in some ways) and others (easy).
Damn this brain. This knowledge. It only gets me so far. And the rest? That is an enigma. A mystery.
*yawn* That is my cue. Body: you're tired. Mind: I have things to say here. I am still on a tangent, on a roll. Body: you and the baby are tired. Mind: I write well when I am tired. Body: You have to get up tomorrow and have lunch with Melissa. You need it. Mind: Indeed, more to think about then. Okay. I'm tired. Body: I will believe it when I see it. Mind: *yawn* Body: Let's go then....
Why is it that I can blog in my head for the past hour as I move about the house, but I get this damn window open and my mind draws a blank. Convenient, eh?
I would say I am a writer by nature, a narrator, but little is actually written. Because of this. Because each time I sit down it just doesn't come. But I am working on this. Here. Now. Writing for writing's sake.
I am kicking back waiting for our dinner guest. There is SO much stuff I could be doing, but it's not gonna make a huge difference. You see, I am chronically disorganized.
So chronically disorganized that there are literal paths through my home. One way lanes, if you will. My son, G wanted to show off his room to Robert, our dinner guest and long time friend. G's room is one of the worse offenders. Things have been just shoved into the open door. There really aren't any paths in there currently. It's a shame too. His room has long been my favorite room of the house. It was neat and orderly and exhuded this sense of peace. I loveed being in there, putting clothes away and such.
It's strange these paths we take in our lives. Stranger the ways in which they are drummed back up and thrown to the surface. We take the tougher path, because that makes us stronger, gives us a stronger sense of accomplishment. We know the tougher path gives us more love, more satisfaction. We make fun of those who took the easy way. Simple and straightforward. We wonder why we didn't choose the route. We wonder why we just have it be easy. A path is a path. A path teaches us, easy or hard.
I want the path of ease too. I want to get over chronic disorganization. I want cleanliness. I want order. I want ease. I want to know where I can go to get my book. My flashlight. My keys, for god's sake. Easy paths. It's such hard work to get there. (in some ways) and others (easy).
Damn this brain. This knowledge. It only gets me so far. And the rest? That is an enigma. A mystery.
*yawn* That is my cue. Body: you're tired. Mind: I have things to say here. I am still on a tangent, on a roll. Body: you and the baby are tired. Mind: I write well when I am tired. Body: You have to get up tomorrow and have lunch with Melissa. You need it. Mind: Indeed, more to think about then. Okay. I'm tired. Body: I will believe it when I see it. Mind: *yawn* Body: Let's go then....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
