I wonder why they never wrote a song about Tuesdays. Oh right! Because Tuesday is noteworthyless. I feel bad for Tuesday in that respect, although there are times that I would think being the wallflower of the work week wouldn’t be that bad. I prefer to be like that in certain aspects of my own life. Nothing exciting, routine, expectations met and never exceeded. Let someone else shine like that damn prima donna Friday.
Anyways, back on the ranch….this blog post is being held hostage by my snarky personality, one of many at this point. I’m not sure what provoked this resurgence, but I’m guessing it has something to do with a heavy combination of PMS and a LARGE bowl of cereal right before bed last night.
When I’m not feeling up to par, self-imposed or Mother Nature-induced, nothing else seems to feel right. Let’s not sugar coat this any longer and just get to the list of things of which I would love to bitch about while snuggled up on the couch in sweatpants and loose ponytail and my bestie empathizing my every sentiment with a, “Gurrl, don’t I know it!”
I feel bloated;
I’m physically and mentally tired;
My 4 mile run on Monday turned into a 3 miler;
My legs feel fatigued;
My 4 mile run today was 10 seconds slower per mile than I usually average, not on purpose;
I feel like my arm fat, CHICKEN WINGS, are floppier than usual;
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more–that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut–my eyes are blue–
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke–
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
Ok ok, so the latter portion of the Complaint List is borrowed from the magnificent Shel Silverstein and his “Sick” poem, but you get my point. And more importantly, I get it: I’m in the mood to find anything and everything wrong with myself, so the list grows into absurdity.
But aren’t we allowed to have these moments/mornings/days/lives? Absolutely. It’s a free country, so go ahead and mope until your heart is content. If that means that you’re stuck in the muddle of life until you’re finally freed from your misery, I say more power to you. The problem is that every moment you spent focusing on what is wrong, you’re not trying to figure out how to make it right. For me, I do not want to spend more time focusing on the problem than I spent creating it. Let me give you an example:
My current issue is that I have been feeling fatigued, again, during my morning runs. So I am disappointed in my performances. While kicking the dirt and being a general Charlie Brown about the whole thing this morning, I decided that three things factored into my current schlumpadinka mindset:
1. Not getting enough/good sleep
2. I am eating like a farmhand, yet am as physically active throughout the day as the swine that occupy the mud hole.
3. I’m not taking care of my legs as well as I should – AKA Rest
So that assessment took all of 5 minutes because I knew these things all along. So, give 5 minutes to bitch, 5 minutes to coherently assembly my list to be presentable to ya’ll, and 5 seconds to hit the “Publish” button. Now that a plan has been set in motion to undo the ickiness that I’ve created, I will give myself about 10 days to get myself completely untied from the mangled web of poor choices. Spend no more time focusing on the problem than you spent creating it.