No, the title of this post doesn't refer to my beloved veggie garden - it's doing nicely, thank you! - but to this poor journal.
There was a time when I hated to wait 24 hours to update here, but lately I'm just not feeling the urge to post any more. Honestly, I don't really have a lot to say that anyone would find interesting and I'm becoming too lazy to want to put effort into organizing my thoughts into something coherent. I've thought about packing it all in when TCB comes home for good (check out the ticker in the header...scarily small number, eh?), but that makes me feel sad and I don't think it's the right answer. I need a place to come and write, to interact with people outside my everyday life, to share the things I'm learning as I try to love and take care of myself.
An example of that would be the realization I came to on Saturday while I was walking. In the past, I've always associated exercise with weight loss (and, by extension, with dieting) and have, therefore, either been obsessive about it or hated it (depending on which way I was going on the scale). I started my informal walks with my work buddy, Scott, with the same hatred I've always brought to walking..."this sucks," or, "no, I don't want to go for a walk, please just kill me instead" - you know the drill. And then, so very slowly that it was essentially imperceptible, I stopped hating it. But I didn't kick over into obsessive mode, either, I just made room for it. I am training for The 3-Day in October and regular walking is something I need to do, so I'm doing it. I'm not dieting, not even watching what I eat...in fact, I'm eating horribly, but I'm still walking. I even went for a walk on Saturday a few hours after a major binge! That would never have happened in the past and I think it bodes well for a less-OCD future: I can be less than perfect.