Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Day 12 | 5x5 Challenge | Go for the run.

5 Minutes:
I'm using this post as a palate cleanser—as a way to transition from my overall approach to life from "asshole" to "effective." This finite and optional exercise will ease my fingers into typing what I really should be writing—something compulsory and ill-defined. It knew it'd be a challenging day. That's why I took five minutes this morning to walk through the garden, admiring the yellow flowers that have started to appear on the tomato plants, the tell-tale tops of carrots, the neat row of snap peas. To appreciate where sun intersected with shadows, creating sharp angles, to notice how simple was the swing hanging from the tree—something I never pay attention to when a kid is sitting on it.

I didn't run because I felt like there wasn't time. That might have been a mistake.

Tonight, I totally snapped. The boys suddenly turned starving when it was time for bed. I was too tired to fight it so I made some toast. I topped it with mashed avocado and sprinkled on the tiniest bit of salt. One kid poured himself a glass of milk and got down to it; the other threw himself to the ground and demanded almond butter. I said no, in a not-so-nice way. He peeled himself from the floor and brought it to the table. While the the boys consumed their snacks—one actively and one still in a pre-contemplative stage—I paged through a proposal. I set a timer for the snack deadline. I watched the clock. I became increasingly anxious. The snacking proceeded at a pace slower than the clock but because the pokey kid had moved into active eating, I allowed it to continue. And became more anxious. Teeth-brushing was agony. I raised my voice. I walked them up the stairs. They whined for 3 chapters. I told them it was too late. We started reading. One kid draped his legs over my entire body. I asked him to stop. The other leaned into occupy the little remaining space of my physical being and bonked my head. Hard. I started crying (frustration, not injury) so did he (pure sadness). It broke my heart. What was I doing?

Now they are sleeping and I am counting my missteps. These being the only steps I've taken in 6 days. It's been an exercise free-week. I'm drinking black coffee and pounding salted peanuts. I am basically doing the opposite of what's prescribed in the healthy living program I'm about to propose. Noticing the contradiction seems to only fuel its propagation. But these situations go in cycles. I know this. And, now having finished this reconciliatory post, I will move on to getting shit done, to making it happen.

And, next time, I won't skip the run.

5 Snaps:



 (Sweet card by Scout's Honor Paper



Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Sometimes it's dope to mope.

I am not moving to Australia. Because that simply seems like far too much effort. And I'm not going to claim that I had a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day." Because it wasn't really. I know this. Everyone is safe. Everyone is healthy. I have a job. I have a home. I have heat (at least I have this warmth while inside the home, or the office, or the car). And plenty of food. But I'm in a super shitty mood.


Maybe it's because I didn't run this morning and didn't unroll my yoga mat this afternoon or evening. Maybe it's because things feel fuzzy and I like solid boundaries. Maybe it's because one kid melted into a mess of tears when I asked the two of them what "superfun" things they wanted to do this weekend while daddy was away. He doesn't want daddy to be away. And he also doesn't want daddy to have a meeting tonight. I take this personally. But I try to hide it, best as I can. And it mostly works to turn the tides. We three play Monopoly and make static, swirling our straight hair on synthetic fabrics. They "swim" in the jet tub while I urge them to wash behind their ears. We read Chapter 3 of Harry Potter. There are snuggles and back scratches. I pass as a more-than-acceptable second fiddle, I'd say.

And then when they go to bed, I get back to feeling sorry for myself. Olin returns home and agrees it's OK to mope about my rut. In the other room—for just a little bit. So that's what I do. And then I get back to creating order out of my emotional mess: making lists, sending emails, outlining ideas for a short story I'm starting on—in my purple Moleskine notebook with a strange syringe-shaped pen I got at some medical conference.

I feel better already.