Welcome to Valentine’s Day at my house. I’m fetchingly dressed in pink sweatpants, a knitting bunny tee, and my lumberjack shirt – an incredibly oversized fleece button down stolen from a boyfriend circa 2001. I’m surrounded by flowers…when I say flowers I mean crumpled tissues. No, I’m not weeping like a jilted woman in a romcom because I’ve not received a bouquet – I have The Plague.
Ok, so I don’t have The Black Death – it’s more likely a cold or sinus infection – but I enjoy the drama…like calling impending snowstorms “Snowpocalypse.” I find myself wondering why it always is that when I’ve just hit my stride at the gym that my body throws a wrench in the machinery. It could be that it’s asking for more rest or it could just be crap luck but it’s so frustrating. I keep trying to tell myself that it’s just a head cold and that I could go to the gym for just a bit, but that familiar feeling in my eyes lets me know that I’m going to fall into a short-term coma as soon as I find a mildly comfortable position and that I probably have a wee fever. I don’t own a thermometer because when I do I take my temperature too frequently. Which gets me thinking about my scale.
I should probably send my scale the way of the thermometer because I can’t stop myself from jumping on it at least once a day. It has become an oracle that determines my moods and, often, makes it harder to stay on track with my eating. I need to stay far away from the feeling that this is not working and that I’m doomed to be my own plus one. The scale is like the worst “Mean Girl” I’ve ever met…just when I’m feeling good it takes me down a couple pegs…and makes out with my boyfriend…ok, maybe not that.
So, here are today’s goals: Drink a lot of liquids, stuff my gullet with Mucinex, get some rest, hide my scale, and be mentally and physically healthy enough to go to yoga tomorrow night.
Do you have any special goals for the day or the week? Comment away!