Sunday night is always that time when I start thinking about the week ahead. The end result is a gut load of worry and tension. I think ahead to all of the things I NEED to do, my lists, my work week and I think about all of the stuff that I could have done over the weekend to make my weekdays easier. I get itchy and twitchy and restless. I feel like I need to clean the house at 9 at night instead of enjoying the last little bits of an otherwise great weekend.
But I am refusing to do that this week.
It started with a pair or two of tight jeans. I spent most of my weekend bouncing back and forth about dieting. “I need to lose some weight. I’ve gained so much recently. I need to get it under control.” was met with “I don’t want to worry about this all of the time. Can’t I just eat well and call it good? Why is this such a problem? I’m driving myself crazy thinking about it all of the time when I could be using that brain power to read and write and do stuff.” This morning I got up and made a big, bad breakfast like I used to to every Sunday. Then I napped. Then I went to the in laws’ for dinner. We had spaghetti and bread and butter and delicious Ooey Gooey Butter Cake and by the time the cake rolled around I had changed my thinking completely. I accepted a cup of coffee with dessert because I love coffee with dessert, even though the back of my mind nagged that I wouldn’t be able to sleep all night.
Then I stopped and I made a decision.
I just want to have a nice week and I want to enjoy my life and I want to savor the good things and the things that make me feel good. You know, I may not sleep well tonight but I am promising myself that I will read if I can’t sleep. I am promising myself right here and right now, in front of you all, that I am going to have a good week and relax.
Last week can be summed up by Monday: I worked out, got ready for work, picked up the house, washed the sheets, ran the dishwasher, went to work, did two story times, stopped at the store on my lunch break, ate lunch, made the bed, unloaded the dishwasher, picked up a bunch of stuff in the basement, went back to work, worked standing most of the night to burn more calories, came home on shitty roads, shoveled the walk and the porch, and made dinner. I cried while I made dinner. I was tired. My back hurt. I just wanted to sit down but I had this running list in my head. I don’t think that I relaxed until mid Saturday.
The truth is that I don’t need everything and I don’t need to do everything. Nobody cares but me and I don’t have a solid reason for caring. Do I really care if I don’t hop on Duolingo every day? If I write four solid pages on the novel does it really matter if I save the fifth for the next day? No and no. I set myself into a wheel of crazy and I am not going to do it this week. I am going to take my time and read like hell and eat something good for me that I actually like and I am going to be happy.
During 2013 and 2014 I was going through a pretty rough depression. There were days when I really didn’t think that I could do it. Every day I thought about hiding underneath my desk or barricading myself in my bedroom. I found myself crying uncontrollably for no reason that I could discern on more occasions than I would like to admit. In 2013 it was even worse because I knew that I should be happy. I was planning my wedding and I was in love and everything was going my way and I was just miserable. This fall, though, I started to surface and it feels so good to feel like myself most of the time again. I feel good and I am not going to make myself feel bad anymore. Fuck it. Life is short.