The Huffington Post had an article today about how stress is making you lose your mind. Well, no shit. With the stress I’m under right now it’s a miracle I can remember my name. I’ve certainly had a hard time with some fact recall. I can tell you I’m under more stress right now than usual. Only 2011 The Year From Hell can top it, and only by a little, I’m afraid.
The cure, according to the article?
Again, may I repeat: no shit.
Yes, I know I need to exercise. My body is telling me that every minute of every day. I want to go exercise, get all sweaty, curse a blue streak because I’m tired and hurting, be silently thrilled that my pants don’t request that I suck it in, bitch to get them buttoned. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to exercise before. But my body is begging to move, and it’s not.
Simply because of time.
I get up early, get cleaned up, get one kid up and out the door, and then it’s off to the races. I’m either frantically trying to get stuff done around the house (you know, details like laundry or cleaning or grocery shopping or paying bills or any of the number of things I want to do, like writing or fluting or just sitting and staring into space), or I’m off teaching or attempting to homeschool or I’m at work or I’m in the car or I’m running errands or I’m driving the kids places. Sure, I could exercise at night…if I didn’t want to sleep. I’ve grown quite fond of my zzzz time since Andy was born 13 years ago. The insomnia that is appearing with greater regularity does not need late night workouts to make it worse.
Come January things will have calmed down and we will have rearranged our lives to be more sane. I know that sounds like a end of year copout, but no, really, by January our poop will be in a group, color coded and everything. And then I will somehow, somehow, work daily exercise and meditation into my schedule.
I wish I could remember exactly why.