It’s a beautiful, unseasonably warm day. I feel grateful for being able to breathe in and smell the air today. Which for some reason always reminds me of kindergarten on the playground. And I am gently tossed into my past for a brief moment when all my worries were what to watch? Thundercats or Heman. What snack should I have? Cheeze-its and milk or apple slices with chunky peanut butter? Not that those decisions no longer exist. Trust me I still ponder what I am having at my next feeding… but, now it is more or less which bill should I pay first, which crazy person should I call back who has a million and one complaints for me today.
Do you ever notice that the silence sometimes gets so loud that the sirens in your mind blare full blast. The traffic spans the length from San Francisco to San Diego. It’s like a 20,000 car pile up and the mess will take days to recover from.
You remember the promise to your toes of a power wash and fresh paint and to your soles that ever needed reflexology.
Your rhomboids screaming for that elbow to be dropped in and your shoulders thirst for that massage oil to melt away all of the tension that resides in them.
Your fantasies are not about being on an island in a far off tropical place but, they are about cheeseburgers and fries, milkshakes and chicken wings, tacos and nachos and pizza with toppings. And visions of little fried drumsticks dance in your head. You feel so deprived and get sick of the dry chicken and vegetables, that the idea of eating clean and a six pack escapes you.
Now you remember, that you promised yourself 5 hours of Cardio, 3 hours of weights, 4 hours of yoga, and 2 hours of Pilates this week. And you punish yourself for every cookie that you think of and smell.
The laundry list of items gets longer every time you cross one thing off. You find yourself treading faster just to stay afloat.
Your best client forgot that she was meeting you at 6am on your day off so you stand there waiting staring aimlessly into space.
The phone rings and now you have to rush in to the gym to teach a boot camp class in 8.7 minutes and you have not prepared anything not even the music. You don’t even teach boot camp.
The therapist appointment can’t get here fast enough because you need to lay on that couch and divulge all of the secrets and rantings that haunt you every day.
The dirty dishes call for you to rescue them from the sink.
Your scattered pile of laundry gets tired of waiting and walks itself over to the machine.
The computer coerces you to pour your heart out so the little lettered keys can translate the cries into metaphors and confessions.
If you were to ask me what a regular day in my life looked like this wouldn’t even scratch the surface. The above diatribe is just a peak inside my mind before 9am.
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