How's the media diet going, Liz? Well, just so you know, I think I've crushed more candy than ever since I declared war on mindless entertainment. I then rambled on and on about it at a house show, instead of paying close attention to the band like a real music fan would have and asked friends IN PERSON if I could send them stupid game requests. So basically, whatever I proclaim, you can assume I'm struggling with it in the other corner of the room.
(I have avoided those darn housewives, which allowed me to sound somewhat knowledgeable in a Sunday discussion about movies. I'm proud of myself. Pat me.)
So, sometimes I fail. As long as I continue to struggle, I have to consider it progress, or else I may quit trying. I don't want to fight the riptide either, but rest assured my natural laziness makes it more like floating on pool noodles and doggie paddling to the ladder when drinks need refills.
Or, as Martha Beck says, play until rest, rest until you feel like playing again.
(Which reminds me to point out, I do read other bloggers. My two favorites right now are the Propaganda Professor and You Are Not So Smart. Although I'm pretty sure this just points to more confirmation bias, I just thought you should know it's not all woo woo in between my ears. )
So, I've re-stated my July resolutions, and wasted another evening. Knitting. Made a frittata out of the veggies. Blogged. Tried to reserve a hotel (unsuccessfully, I might add) for this long weekend's vacation. I listened to Speedy Ortiz on NPR (???) because they're playing at the house show I can't go to (and probably wouldn't have anyway - it turns out, hot, packed basements with only one rickety and blocked exit make my heart race and not for the excitement of seeing awesome bands, so enough with that brief flirtation with youth recaptured). Why do I have to remind myself this is okay? What did I want to accomplish with this piece of time?
I think I did as much as I could with the level of energy I had been given. I'm hugging myself.
(I have avoided those darn housewives, which allowed me to sound somewhat knowledgeable in a Sunday discussion about movies. I'm proud of myself. Pat me.)
So, sometimes I fail. As long as I continue to struggle, I have to consider it progress, or else I may quit trying. I don't want to fight the riptide either, but rest assured my natural laziness makes it more like floating on pool noodles and doggie paddling to the ladder when drinks need refills.
Or, as Martha Beck says, play until rest, rest until you feel like playing again.
 |
| This is resting. |
So, I've re-stated my July resolutions, and wasted another evening. Knitting. Made a frittata out of the veggies. Blogged. Tried to reserve a hotel (unsuccessfully, I might add) for this long weekend's vacation. I listened to Speedy Ortiz on NPR (???) because they're playing at the house show I can't go to (and probably wouldn't have anyway - it turns out, hot, packed basements with only one rickety and blocked exit make my heart race and not for the excitement of seeing awesome bands, so enough with that brief flirtation with youth recaptured). Why do I have to remind myself this is okay? What did I want to accomplish with this piece of time?
I think I did as much as I could with the level of energy I had been given. I'm hugging myself.
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