Wednesday, May 16, 2012

I almost relapsed today--and I still may! I just thought that I would blog about it first and then see how I felt.   The entire episode of Sherlock we watched last night had to do with his smoking cessation and subsequent insanity. It was funny the way he was getting really close to smokers and inhaling.

Buddy, I am right there with you. 

I always feel like a gerbil on a treadmill.  I thought that slowing down on the weighing and the smoking would somehow give me a sense of calm. WRONG. I'm still the same spastic neurotic just not as well-medicated.

Had a nice coffee time with two authentic and cool moms this morning. Very enlightening and engaging.  Great to touch base with folks and hear of their struggles, triumphs and day to day grind. Great to hear that it's not all foodie-inspired meals with ramp marmalade,  Kumon and harp lessons for some other folks either. Great to hear laughter and no judgment.

Some of us moms parent "out loud" shall we say.  Some are quieter.  I'm sure you all can guess which category you (and I) fall into.

My Mom, sister and I celebrated 'the day that shall not be mentioned' yesterday (for the uninitiated that's M*ther's Day).  My sister was recounting some travails at work and she looked at me and Mom and said the following 'Hey, look, I'm not a calm person. End of story. So some shit like that really sets me off.'

'Hey look, I'm not a calm person. End of Story. So some shit like that really sets me off.' 

First of all, let me just say that from that comment alone you can extrapolate that 1) I come by it honestly and 2) there is but one antidote for members of the spaz tribe (short of a Thorazine drip and a morphine pump): Exercise.  Exercise that takes a while, makes you sweat, feels a bit like work and gets the heart pumping.   Running is my sister's mood stabilizer.  It was my Mom's but she's graduated to fast walking, Pilates, non-stop gardening, etc.

Since I quit the shmaloking and the shmalweighing, I haven't been exercising as much as I apparently should have to maintain a level of calm.   I thought planning to exercise a lot would be just trading one effing crazy ass compulsion for another.   I have since come to the conclusion that some effing crazy ass compulsions are indeed BETTER than others. As in, it's better if I work out too much and stay quit on the coffin nails than wonder around the house, lost, eating my cuticles and then horking them into the garbage can as if it were a spittoon.

Anyway, as I sat here waiting for "the calm" to overtake me, it dawned on me that it might be a while---like maybe not even until I'm dead. So, perhaps I should put my shoes on, drive down to Kerrytown and go for a nice hour and a half hike through the Arb.

If I still feel like it on the way back, I can bum a smoke off of one of the Community High Students.

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