Sometimes I’m just stuck. As in I don’t want to move. It’s not that I can’t. I’m not particularly tired (hey, I napped today). It’s not that I don’t have anything to do. There’s tons of stuff I could do. Work on my book. Read. Take a bath. And read in the bathtub.
Instead I’m sitting in front of my computer. Having reviewed my Kinetix for the week (only 2 days of exercise this week due to scheduling difficulties), but if you could believe my fancy schmancy scale this morning I’ve lost 3 pounds. Even my body fat percentage has dropped a little bit. My jeans have about two extra inches around the waist now. That’s what sucks about losing weight and/or getting into better shape. My clothes don’t fit. Still I’d rather have them be too big than too snug.
Daylight Savings Time? What is that? Can’t we stop it now? I woke up before six like I always do. I don’t know why. I’m awake. There is no point in going back to bed because I’ll just lie there and wonder why I bothered. So I did what I always do. I made coffee. Retrieved the paper. Then I went and got bagels. Then we went grocery shopping.
Then I went to Mass. I don’t know why. I’ve started going back to church. Is it years of Catholic guilt getting to me? Or is it God’s voice in my head urging me to go? I don’t know why. I go. I put a check in the basket. I won’t formally join a parish. But I think, gosh, can I make the effort? Can I give an hour out of my week to God? Could I make that small sacrifice?
Here’s what appalls me about the church I’ve been attending. After Communion, many people walk out. And at the beginning of the final hymn, many more walk out. At the church I used to attend, an announcement was made before Mass started that went something like this: “The Mass is concluded when the final hymn has been sung and the celebrant leaves the hall.” Hint. Hint. You don’t leave before he does.
When I was a child, this was simply not done. No one left before the priest did. If you did, it was duly noted. But these people today, it’s like a mass stampede (no pun intended) to get out the door before the priest does. Really, I think. Are you really in that much of a hurry? I’d say the average age of the people in this parish is at least 65, which also makes me think they’d know better. I can’t imagine there’s anywhere pressing they have to be unless it’s the golf course or brunch. Go ahead. Walk out on God. I know what it is, the reason they leave. They don’t want to be stuck in traffic. God forbid. A fate worse than death or God’s wrath, apparently.
Back at home after a yummy snack (cheddar cheese, an apple and crackers) I decided, okay. I’ll clean. Something I avoid like the plague. But now that the “the cleaning lady” is a thing of the past, I must make myself do it. Even though I hate it. I tackled the living room. Wood floor. She always used a string mop, so I gave that a try. Bought some wood floor make-it-shine cleaner. And frankly, it looks as good as when she did it. And I dusted! I’m so proud of myself. If you venture no further than my living room, you’ll think my house is stunning.
Feeling quite disciplined I went upstairs to work on GRINDING REALITY. Didn’t get too far before I needed a nap. A few pages of a Stuart Woods novel and I was out. I have no idea how long that nap was. When I woke up it was almost five o’clock and I was hungry.
Because it’s my day off, I’m clearly not expected to cook. So I took some of my garage sale money and went to Red Brick Pizza for salad and pizza. A half hour or so of 60 Minutes. Another attempt to do the Sunday crossword, which is not coming together for me today.
And here I am in front of the computer. Trying to get up the gumption to at least go soak in the tub. With a good book. Before I stumble off to bed.
