I was writing in my journal last night (some of the precious little writing I've been doing lately), and it was, as this blog has been, a real bummer. And, truth be told, it's partly true. But the other part is that things aren't that much of a bummer, too.
Particularly the amount of slack I've started to give myself. When I get bummed in the wintertime, whatever part of me that harkens back to my pioneer heritage and might tell me to just muster my wits and get on with things the best I can has long since been snuffed out--winters and winters ago--and now I just do as I please.
For example, that giant basket of laundry I brought up from the basement two days ago? I just don't feel like folding it, so it just sits in front of James's dresser, in full view, as I sit reading on my unmade bed. Whatever, winter.
Don't feel like a sensible lunch? Good, it's a perfect opportunity to eat ritz chips and drink soda. Hungry again an hour later? How about more ritz chips?
I'll tell you, it's a strange transition at first, the absolute absence of self-discipline, but, once you get used to it, it's pretty nice. Very relaxing. Edie occasionally undermines my best intentions by "needing" something, but for the most part, she's content to build her legos while I lay beside her, watching her focused concentration.
So, here's to my winter of self-indulgence. I can think of a dozen things I should do tonight, but, I'm not going to do them. I'm going to go read on my still unmade bed.