Not much to report. Not doing well in the weight loss realm. However, an interesting thing happened. We went up to Silver City over the weekend to see an old and dear friend who lives there. She treats us like royalty when we visit. Dinner out, taking care of our 6-year-old so my husband and I could take a long walk, shopping and sauntering down the scenic main drag, a delicious lunch out with an absolutely delicious German beer that I can’t find locally—it was heavenly. I slept like a log on her soft guest room bed with cool air conditioning, and woke up refreshed.
And I didn’t feel the need to overeat. I was relaxed. I felt taken care of. The food was delicious, and it was enough. Just getting out of my normal stressful, noisy, cluttered and uncomfortable environment was enough.
I’m just like any other working mother. There is never enough time. The house is always a sty. My attentions are divided. I feel guilty if I sit down for a little while to read. There is no time for contemplation, meditation, spirituality. No time for creativity, projects, things I enjoy. Exercise is rushed on my lunch hour, just a box to check off. Everything is a task. I do at least two things at once most of the time. I love my work but it’s hard and I need to devote more time to it. If I’m doing well at one thing, something else slips. Never, never enough time unless I want to be an automaton that does nothing but chores from the time I get home from work until I drop into bed. When I was a younger working mom, I used to be able to do that.
But I’m not young now. And I need time to regroup and just breathe, but the time is never there.
I’m frazzled, and the enjoyment I get from a chocolate bar or some ice cream gives me enough nurturing, just enough, to where the pain of being fat is just barely outweighed by the comfort the eating brings me.
Not in a good place. Does it show?
No comments:
Post a Comment