I hope I can do this. The thickening layer of snow outside wants to argue with me that I can not. It's far too yucky out there to drive anywhere, right? It's far easier to do a little indoor attempt and pretend. But, mister snow, I say no. I can do this. I can keep going. Even if I have to go in the extremely early mornings with my husband. If I have to go during the dinner hour to the yoga classes, if I have to carve out an hour and FORCE my stubborn soft bottom into the car, drive to the gym and throw myself at a tread mill.
I can do this. I will do this. I still have fat to shed. I still have muscle to gain. I still have something to prove. I will do this.
Gross piles of (god, it's pretty) snow or not. I shall. I'll get myself snow gloves, layer up and go play in it. I'll...
Right now I can feel that bitter dark part of me shaking it's metaphorical head in negation. I can feel the tug of the heavy gray clouds laden with snow and *weather.
Right now I'm arguing with myself. there's a little child inside of me who grew up dreaming of white Christmases. There's a girl who wanted to make snow men. Who wanted to cut out snow flakes from paper and post them in frosted windows. There's a child who wondered what it felt like to catch a snow flake on her tongue. She's being held down by the bully in me. That stubborn itch who likes nothing more then grumping about everything scowling Scrooge like at the world and sarcastically mocking that inner child.
I WANT to let the kid win this round. I want to be enchanted and amazed. Let's give that kid a chance.
*"weather" must be said by drawing the word out like it smells of wee. Weather is not just climatic changes, it's everything that is horrible and gross and unsavory about the stuff that is NOT sunshine.
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