Am I blue? Oh, I wish

I am gray. Dull beige. Sand. Off-white. I want to be blue (sky) and yellow (sunny). But I am not.

(Warning: this post is going to be full of complaining, while I am fully aware that I have very, very little to really complain about in my life. If that sort of things annoys you, I advise you not to read on. I won't blame you a bit, and I hope you come back another day. Pick a sunny one, and you won't even recognize me. Thanks.)

If you've read certain of my posts from last Spring (or pre-Spring), you may remember that waiting for nice weather is not something I'm much good at, by winter's end. Now put that together with the true horribleness of this winter, with its near-constant snow, rain, gray skies, cold, etcetera ad infinitum, and you'll get an idea of where I'm going with this.

I've been feeling blah the last few days. It's that waiting-to-get-sick feeling when you just don't feel quite right, but you're not sick either, but you just know it's coming. Only it isn't really a physical feeling, but an emotional one.

Perhaps I need a light box? Would that help? But then the $300 charge on my credit card wouldn't cheer me up any. (I'm sure you can get cheaper ones; I used that as my example because Miss Conduct linked to it in recommending the light box her husband uses.)

So, despite the supposed-to-be-self-descriptive name of the Eat Less, Exercise More Plan, I am putting the Eat Less part on hold for right now. I am going to continue to exercise, because I don't think that's making anything worse, but right now eating is about all I have*, and I am taking myself off the hook for it.

*I do still have the kitties for fuzz therapy, of course. But snuggling up with Pan can involve noticing how fast his heart is beating, how hard it's working, even when he's relaxed, and that leads to Seriously Unhappy Thoughts. Holding Harold tends to make me wonder how he and I will do without Pan. It's hard to ward those thoughts off, perhaps more so when I am already depressed.

I am not granting myself permission to eat a pint of ice cream a day, but I am going to allow some crap into my diet and not feel guilty about it. For heaven's sake, desperate times call for desperate measures: I looked at the 10-day forecast, and there is one sunny day on it. One! And the highs range from 35 to 47 degrees. The highs! (And then, because I am just that stupid, I looked at the weather in Florida, and almost cried. Jealous much? Glutton for punishment, much? Why did I look?)

This calls for chocolate. (And Peeps.) Mama, your timing is impeccable as always:



I feel better already.