Sundays are for Dreaming

Sometimes, I find Sundays are for getting things done--all the things that I should have done on Saturday but didn't because I was being a bum or had too many social plans. On Sundays, I clean; I run errands; I cook and bake.

Sometimes, I find Sundays are for thought, for deep thinking. On Sundays, I'll sit in the bathtub and read a book. On Sundays, I sometimes actually write and draw. On Sundays, I sit around with ideas, write blogs I'll never publish, read articles, makes lists and plans to do things I will probably never do. Sunday is often a day for dreaming of how I want my life to be. Life may never be as I dream it, but I think the exercise of dreaming it is important. It keeps me sane. Dreams are what keep everyone sane. Lord knows our lives usually aren't cut out to do that for us.

Today, like many days the plan I'm making is to be more fit, to control my gluttony and work out more regularly. I live such a sedentary life. Eight or nine hours for five days a week barely moving from my chair at work, pulling cookies out of my desk drawer when I just can't take the brain drain of work anymore.

If I'm good, I go to the Y after work, get sweaty and gross or chlorinated in the pool for an hour. I'm often not good and go straight home.

Then I eat, and if I'm good it's full of vegetables and few carbs and meat, but someitmes I'm bad and it's nachos. Mmmmm, nachos. Lately there is always ice cream, which is often paired with chocolate cake. Don't judge me--it's all homemade and gloriously irresistable. I like to think that even if I'm indulging in too much fat and sugar at least there are few to no preservatives.

This eating takes place at the coffee table, in front of the computer or the TV (often both). I might spend the evening reading with my laptop ready should Chris pop in to chat, or watching my latest television show, rarely remembering to justify it by crocheting.

In other words, I go from glued to a desk chair all day, to glued to a couch, and then I sleep, glued to my bed. I don't move. I may grow moss soon, and while I like the image of me starting to take root, turning tree-like, growing moss, sprouting leaves, and generally becoming covered in vegetation, in reality I know that what's happening is my metabolism is slowing, and my blood pressure is lowering, and I may start to build up fat in my system even though I look pretty healthy, on the thinner side of curvy. This misleading appearance may be the bain of my motivation to actually be fit.

I need a non-appearance related goal that is also not tied to a fitness routine (I will fudge a fitness routine), so my goal is to get back to the weight I was when I know I was healthy, when I worked out twice a day, ate five snacks instead of three meals, and counted my calories. I was in such incredible control of my food intake and my fitness, and I locked in to a weight range about ten pounds lighter than my current range. I never got below that, I just stayed there no matter what I tried to do, so I'm going to try to get back there. Although given the lapsed time since then, perhaps my current weight is the new minimum. Female bodies are known for such shifts.

Now that that's all planned, I'll probably go read in the bathtub and dream of a small house with no extra space. I want a backyard with a garden (which in reality I would have a patch of ground where nothing comes up and things that did would be withered), a big lazy adoring dog, and perhaps some chickens for fresh eggs. This house should have a little garage on the side where I can park my car and do some creative projects--refinish and reupholster furniture. That's the dream, but it's entirely unrealistic at the moment.