Sluggishly yours
We have been robbed of summer by psychotic weather that made June into November, and now, we're being robbed of beautiful yellow and gold fall by bipolar weather this time: can't decide between hot or cold, sun or snow. My mind and body are thoroughly confused by what's going on, and it must be exhausting because, lord, am I tired.
So, I've developed a new routine. When I get home, nay, when I drag myself from car to elevator and ride up to the 3rd floor, and then drag myself down the impossibly long hallway across the threshold and into the apartment, the sequence goes something like this: I kick off shoes, and make a beeline for the couch on a good day, and straight into bed for a deeper nap on a bad day. Usually, I fall asleep immediately, and for at least an hour, and wake up completely disoriented on account of the cat or the husband confusedly pondering, poking and/or pawing my sleeping mass. Then, typically, I watch the husband make a meal from the couch, consume said meal, and go back to the couch until bedtime. Which is in about another hour after that.
Remember how I used to be an insomniac? This is the opposite of that. And little better, because the level of tiredness is the same.
Here I complain getting robbed of the seasons, but honestly, I think I've left the seasons out there in an unlocked container on Skid Row with a sign that says "take me, I work," because it's difficult to enjoy the seasons if the only time I see the seasons is through a car window, and in sweatpants from the couch.
I have come up with a list of potential scape goats to take the blame for the great season robbery of 2009: the suburbs (we'd be going out for walks - if there was somewhere to walk!); my stupid job (hours are long); where I DO my stupid job (generally in a basement with no windows, and part of the day in a room in a basement with no windows and with the lights off...and up someone's butt); eternal car-rides (this is when I forget all the bad about the T and only remember the pleasant walk to and fro. I mean, seriously, this morning, there was half a mile of traffic back up - why? - because someone got pulled over, and everyone was insanely curious, even at 7 am, what the hell happened. Craning their necks to see the dead bodies. Give people a flashing blue light, and traffic slows down immediately). It's hard to say which is the ring leader, but I feel like all three need to take the fall for this. No pun intended.
And another thing. As gravity takes greater and greater control of my ass, I wonder, does having a gym in the basement actually end up being deleterious to my girlish figure? I just never go! Once I come home, and slap barefoot across the parquet to my russet colored couch, and bury myself in the fuzzy nap blankie - no way in HELL is anyone going to convince me to go anywhere else, not even just to the basement, not even for my coronary and ass-and-gravity-related health.
I don't like this anymore than I like how it sounds. And daily, I make resolutions, and daily, I fail to follow through. Hence, the "sluggishly."
So, I've developed a new routine. When I get home, nay, when I drag myself from car to elevator and ride up to the 3rd floor, and then drag myself down the impossibly long hallway across the threshold and into the apartment, the sequence goes something like this: I kick off shoes, and make a beeline for the couch on a good day, and straight into bed for a deeper nap on a bad day. Usually, I fall asleep immediately, and for at least an hour, and wake up completely disoriented on account of the cat or the husband confusedly pondering, poking and/or pawing my sleeping mass. Then, typically, I watch the husband make a meal from the couch, consume said meal, and go back to the couch until bedtime. Which is in about another hour after that.
Remember how I used to be an insomniac? This is the opposite of that. And little better, because the level of tiredness is the same.
Here I complain getting robbed of the seasons, but honestly, I think I've left the seasons out there in an unlocked container on Skid Row with a sign that says "take me, I work," because it's difficult to enjoy the seasons if the only time I see the seasons is through a car window, and in sweatpants from the couch.
I have come up with a list of potential scape goats to take the blame for the great season robbery of 2009: the suburbs (we'd be going out for walks - if there was somewhere to walk!); my stupid job (hours are long); where I DO my stupid job (generally in a basement with no windows, and part of the day in a room in a basement with no windows and with the lights off...and up someone's butt); eternal car-rides (this is when I forget all the bad about the T and only remember the pleasant walk to and fro. I mean, seriously, this morning, there was half a mile of traffic back up - why? - because someone got pulled over, and everyone was insanely curious, even at 7 am, what the hell happened. Craning their necks to see the dead bodies. Give people a flashing blue light, and traffic slows down immediately). It's hard to say which is the ring leader, but I feel like all three need to take the fall for this. No pun intended.
And another thing. As gravity takes greater and greater control of my ass, I wonder, does having a gym in the basement actually end up being deleterious to my girlish figure? I just never go! Once I come home, and slap barefoot across the parquet to my russet colored couch, and bury myself in the fuzzy nap blankie - no way in HELL is anyone going to convince me to go anywhere else, not even just to the basement, not even for my coronary and ass-and-gravity-related health.
I don't like this anymore than I like how it sounds. And daily, I make resolutions, and daily, I fail to follow through. Hence, the "sluggishly."
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