In my first WIBWIW (Whatever, I'll Blog What I Want!), I mentioned I needed to take better care of myself. Without getting into too much detail, I've taken some steps in that direction and have been feeling somewhat better. Well, I haven't been feeling so awful, which, while a small victory, is better than none, I reckon.
But one problem I was having I've not yet resolved - when I don't have to get up early for work, I just don't get up at all, not till 11 or noon. I can't seem to get myself moving sooner than that, and when I do move, it's begrudgingly, gracelessly. Aimlessly. A few hours go by before I feel able to do anything, and then it's 3 or 4pm and I feel like the day's gotten away from me, and—oh, look, is that a Law and Order: Special Victims Unit marathon?
This goes beyond my congenital laziness, beyond procrastinating, beyond surrendering to distraction. I've been in a bad way. But I haven't yet fixed this. Wiser heads than mine have urged me to be patient and give the changes I've instituted time to help. So I'll do that. But this seemingly unbeatable inertia frustrates me, greatly.
Today (Sunday), I kept putting off my alarm clock until about noon and awoke in my dark living room, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. My eyelids fluttered repeatedly and I thought, "Just turn on the TV, that'll be something." I did that and the only thing that was coming on that appealed in any way was the 1986 movie Highlander. I'd never seen it and wanted to, so that's what I focused on for a couple of hours. What was good about me tuning into this particular flick was that a French/Swiss-accented fella (Christopher Lambert) played the titular Scottish Highlander and a Scotsman (Sean Connery) played a Spaniard. A Spaniard!!!
Each actor spoke in more or less his natural accent, though Lambert attempted a brogue now and again. This annoyed me so much I was motivated to go brew some coffee as I muttered darkly to myself. I made breakfast, I ate. I watched the movie, alternating between enjoyment of the scenes set in the New York city of the day, bobbing my head to the Queen soundtrack, and raging against the casting and those ridiculous choices. (I nearly threw something at the TV set when Lambert murdered the line, "My bonnie Heather!") The movie finished, finally, and I booted up my laptop and got to work on this blog post.
I had to get mad to get moving.
I'm taking note of this, though it isn't the way I want to live. I want to move for the joy of it, not because I've been irked into movement. But I suppose that this, too, is better than nothing. In fact, I know it is. Anything is better than giving up.