Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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1 Comments:Ah yes! Virgo Guilt has been raging at this end too. I'm not working outside the house -- but beat myself up if I don't do "enough" in a day, whatever that is! And as for the weight...well, I'm workin' on it! (sigh)... Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Wednesday, November 17, 2004 It wasn’t so bad at WW last night. There was a little loss - well, I should hope so, after a week of not eating at GML, and all. I still can’t seem to leave the fabulous cheese BD brought home from Canada alone. But soon it will be gone and then I can’t succumb to its siren song any more. Let us hope I can do better with the exercise this week. Today will be the first time I’ve been able to get to the gym since before the retreat. So smack on today's front page of the Richmond Times is this article warning that lack of sleep makes you fat. Seems that the more hours you are awake the more hours you can eat (duh) and the less leptin, which tells your body you’ve had enough to eat, you have and the more grehlin, the substance that makes you feel hungry, your body makes. Lose 2 hours of sleep and you’re 23% more likely to be fat. Loose 3 hours and it jumps to 50%, lose 4 and it’s a whopping 73%. Now that’s the sort of news that’ll keep you up at night. I obsess about this because for about 3 years I’ve had lots of trouble sleeping. I think it’s something like drinking water. I forget to drink water and after a while I am not drinking any water at all and I’m so empty I can’t tell if I’m hungry or thirsty. In fact, I lose the ability to know if I’m thirsty or not. It’s a constant battle for me now and I have to schedule drinking water. I suspect some of my insomnia is that as well. Sure, there could be some hormonal stuff involved, and I always toss and turn when I feel guilty - and folks, I’m a Virgo, fer cryin’ out loud. We have a corner on the guilt market. And of course, it’s delightful to think that it's not my fault that I’m not in perfect accord with the perfect body and the perfect life like it was in the perfect good old days when people did everything perfectly. Nevertheless, it has bothered me that I operate on 6-7 hours of sleep a night. Maybe my New Year’s Resolution this January ought to be to sleep 8 hours a night. I still haven’t had my quiet moment in space and time yet. Till I do, I’ll be operating on grit and mental acuity, conscious thought and determination, but not with sure instinct. For such an intuitive person, that means - I’m be running on 3 cylinders - not the best way. Certainly not my natural way. It’s rather pleasing to know how much I can get done minus my most valuable talent, but it’s not much fun over any real stretch of time. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to find a hole in my schedule to reconnect to this essential power source when I suddenly realized that I can take Friday off! P is coming on Thursday to cook wedding stuff - and I hope to play with her a little, too. I had planned to go in late Friday, but now I think about it - I’m just going to stay home, period. I have to work Saturday anyway, and I worked last Sat., so that is that. Friday it is. And tonight? Tonight I teach a beginner knitter class after all. I’ve got the yarn and needles I bought for the October classes that didn’t make up. I just have to dig out the pattern for the hat and make copies of it. It’s not essential for them to get the pattern tonight, they don’t start on the stranded colorwork till next week, but I’d like to give it to them anyway. I really like these women a lot. They are the ladies who work at the nail salon I frequent and they’re really dear people. That last statement opens a door to an entire new contemplation - about people I saw, but didn’t get to know, back in the days of yore - in high school, when all my social skills were hammered out. Those folk, usually far more adept at doing the things one is supposed to do, were well within my vision, but never close enough to talk to. I’d watch them, noting that they always seemed to wear the right clothes, introduced little gestures or phrases that were cool from the get go, clustered in social groups that just seemed to be doing age appropriate things, like going on dates or joining clubs or working at jobs. They seemed older than I, who, even now, with decades of successful social navigation under my belt, can still feel uncomfortably gauche and immature at times. Most of these people were girls, though there were boys, too, who seemed to be part of that other world. That world of fast access to the grown ups. Now I think about it, of course these people would seem more mature. They had less time to stay a kid than those of us who were expected to go through 4+ more years of school after we turned 18. They had to start thinking hard about rent and taxes and phone bills and cars that were not going to be supplied by parents. Some of them were going to be thinking about their own babies. They didn’t have time to be gauche and awkward and clumsy. They certainly didn’t have time to narrow their focus down to something as specific as the Galamian method of vibrato compared to the Toth. Those of us who had been placed on the four-more-years track, a far smaller number 30 years ago than today, knew we were separated from them and we knew that as time passed we’d see less and less of them till one day we might never see them at all, unless we ended up teaching their kid in our classes. So we never got to know them, we babies with the ambitious report cards. My family wasn’t much of one to use individual services, like beauticians or manicurists or house cleaners. Heck, we tended to even do our own house painting and I never remember a plumber or electrician coming to our house in all the 18 years I lived with my parents. Daddies took care of those things and let’s face it, any service man who might have been summoned would have come while I was in school. Of course, now I say this - I remember in one place we lived, the upstairs shower never worked. You had to use the other bathroom if you wanted a shower. Perhaps my parents, even in their late 30’s, were still just too shy to talk to those people over there. When you’re a kid you can never figure out why grown ups do the things they do. You just assume they know what they’re doing and you’ll find out “when you’re grown up”. Anyway, this long meandering post is merely taking you to the spot where I walk across the room and start talking to those folk “over there”. And they’re just as nice and friendly and warm as you’d ever want someone to be. And when they find out you teach knitting they’re thrilled and can’t wait for you to offer them a class. And that’s just what I’ll be doing tonight. posted by Bess | 7:09 AM |
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