Right, so today is Tuesday. Just in case you didn't already know that. And I'm more than 24 hours into my starting over. And today feels a bit rocky for me. That's me, playing my best Sisyphus at Aberdour Beach on the North Sea in Scotland. Funny thing about starting over, you jump over the starting line and sprint. And sprinting without looking or being prepared can result in all sorts of drama. I was so full of enthusiasm yesterday! And today, I realize that just "saying" you're going to start over and reclaim your life isn't enough. Practice, practice, practice.
I woke up late. Not that I have a job right now to get to, but sleeping past 9:00 a.m. just seems to be wrong. Maybe I got up on the wrong side of the bed. And how does one know if it's the wrong side or not? Is the wrong side the one where the mattress tag is located? You know, the tag you shouldn't remove just in case the mattress police come and inspect your tag situation.
Anyway, I decided that I should go running. In my bid to reclaim my life, I'm also determined to lose some excess weight. And frankly, excess is an understatement. I won't tell you how much I need to lose, let's just say enough to make my Seven for all mankind jeans look good again.
I'm not much for running in the rain, but I was determined not to let that stop me. See? I'm putting action to my words. I think a lot when I run.
Mostly I think about not tripping on the trails here in Scotland. But sometimes I think about my Mom. I even talk to her. I fully believe she can hear me. Missing Mom takes up more of my time than I thought possible. And sometimes not admitting it is easier than dealing with it. It's hard. Being without her. Missing Mom today made me stumble. I'm putting up my own boulders along my path to reclamation.
How dumb is that? You'd think we'd learn by now. But I must admit I feel a bit like Sisyphus, doomed by Tartarus, to keep rolling the damned boulder up the hill only to have it roll back down and trip me up.
Well, today, I've made an effort to roll the boulder off the cliff. A cliff that looks just like this one...Off the North Sea again, seems to be a recurring theme for me. More about that tomorrow perhaps.
I woke up late. Not that I have a job right now to get to, but sleeping past 9:00 a.m. just seems to be wrong. Maybe I got up on the wrong side of the bed. And how does one know if it's the wrong side or not? Is the wrong side the one where the mattress tag is located? You know, the tag you shouldn't remove just in case the mattress police come and inspect your tag situation.
Anyway, I decided that I should go running. In my bid to reclaim my life, I'm also determined to lose some excess weight. And frankly, excess is an understatement. I won't tell you how much I need to lose, let's just say enough to make my Seven for all mankind jeans look good again.
I'm not much for running in the rain, but I was determined not to let that stop me. See? I'm putting action to my words. I think a lot when I run.
Mostly I think about not tripping on the trails here in Scotland. But sometimes I think about my Mom. I even talk to her. I fully believe she can hear me. Missing Mom takes up more of my time than I thought possible. And sometimes not admitting it is easier than dealing with it. It's hard. Being without her. Missing Mom today made me stumble. I'm putting up my own boulders along my path to reclamation.
How dumb is that? You'd think we'd learn by now. But I must admit I feel a bit like Sisyphus, doomed by Tartarus, to keep rolling the damned boulder up the hill only to have it roll back down and trip me up.
Well, today, I've made an effort to roll the boulder off the cliff. A cliff that looks just like this one...Off the North Sea again, seems to be a recurring theme for me. More about that tomorrow perhaps.
To push my boulder of the moment over the hillside or cliff, I've made some decisions.
I have decided to embrace my grief about losing Momma. Keeping it bottled up is making a mess of things. When we're children, crying and showing our emotions is such a natural reaction. Scraped knee? Tears. Fall off the swing? Tears. We lose that, I think, when we grow up. I don't want to lose the ability to cry, mourn and grieve. I need to be heard. If by nobody other than myself. Maybe that's the point of this whole "grown up" thingy. I've always said that if I'd known how flippin' hard it was to be a responsible adult I would have NEVER signed on. Alas, here I am. And day two, so far, isn't all that bad.
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