I'm home alone this week. Little Miss is at her dad's until we pick her up Thursday, Laura is in Des Moines hanging w/ friends too. Bill's working overtime every day... So it's me and the pets rattling around in the house alone.
It's good. I need to straighten some things out in my head and life.
I bought a FitBit yesterday (A One, which is currently clipped to my bra) and I wore it last night on my wrist while sleeping. It says I woke 16 times.
I am a terrible sleeper, always have been, partly due to nightmares (I have to have a light on or I cannot sleep at all) partly due to sinusy issues. It's always a struggle, but at least now I can see and track it, maybe make some modifications. I bought a new calendar and am going to keep a regular to-do list on it, as well as make some general notes about my day. Hopefully it'll help.
I cancelled my Weight Watchers membership over the weekend. My head isn't in the game there - hasn't been for more than a year - and I cannot justify continuing to pay $42.95 a month just to sit in a weekly meeting that I'm not taking anything away from. I have discussed this with my therapist, my physician, even saw a nutritionist/dietician a couple of weeks ago. My problem isn't my diet - it's actually pretty good - it's my brain. But it's always been my brain. My doc wants me to up exercise. That's her only modification, along with the dietician's suggestion to also add soy. I've started to do both of those things (the fitbit should help w/ exercise). My therapist is focusing on some of my self-hatred issues. Whee.
Writing is, well, writing. I get words sometimes. Most days I don't. I feel like I'm spitting into the wind with this book. I can see the whole thing in my head, but can only access random slivers. SPORE's cover blurbs are starting to come in and they're incredible. I hope it does well, but it terrifies me. I'm trying to devise ways to get back into the daily groove, but it's not going well. I need to get another book done. Soon. Sigh.
I have decided we (I) have TOO MUCH STUFF and I'm starting a clear out and purge. Bill wants to put everything in totes in the basement, but they sit down there and sit and sit and sit and the stuff gets forgotten and remains unused... I think I'm just gonna toss/sell/donate as much as I reasonably can. There's just too much clutter!
Anyway, that's about it for me. {{hugs}} and have a fantabulous 2015
4 comments:
You have a fantabulous 2015, too!
"Too much stuff" is an affliction of our modern life. I de-clutter and throw away and donate and turn around and more stuff is there. It's quite scary at times.
I have a couple of friends who use a Fitbit or something similar, and they really like their fitness trackers.
I have that Fitbit, too. It lives in my bra, mostly because it's less likely to get washed than if I put it in my pocket. I haven't slept with it on for a long time because sleep has never been an issue for me.
Why are you still having sinusy issues? I thought the surgery was supposed to fix that.
Getting rid of stuff is always better than storing it, IMHO. We've been dealing with that too. It's easy to write it off as a 1st world problem, but I think that minimizes it to something we don't have to actually deal with.
Have a great new year, m'dear!
I still have some allergy issues, plus last week I came down with a head cold. So. Much. Snot. So in addition to the post-surgery bloodclots and mess, I have buckets o' snot. Whee.
Yeah, Bill is into putting things in totes, but then I can't remember what tote something is in, so I have to go searching, mostly thru stuff that we haven't touched (except while searching for something else) for years. Sigh.
I've never liked that phrase "first world problems." I think it's a very mean way to tell us to count our blessings. It reminds me of the poem "Richard Corey." We all have problems that are important to us and how we live.
Here's the poem:
Richard Cory
BY EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
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