I did make it out to meet up with a friend today, but winter is here in earnest and my house is seductive.
Life closes in with winter. I know I’m not alone. A very sociable friend of mine, after I’d extracted her from her house for lunch, turned to me and confessed that she thought she might be developing traces of agoraphobia. She confessed she was perfectly happy at home, shuffling around in comfy fleece, and felt no great desire to get out.
I found it hard to argue. Right now we have 35 mile an hour winds, and the temperature refuses to rise above 24 degrees. The weather isn’t even trying to lure us out with deceitful rays of sunshine; it’s been gray for two days. The fact that I’ve had a cold just plays right into this.
Lately, nirvana for me is a morning on the computer (blog, email, and the ever present Spider Solitaire), lunch in my recliner with the morning paper, the afternoon in a different recliner with the current book, and time before dinner in front of the television (Property Brothers, Alaska the Last Frontier, DVR’d episodes of Doctor Blake).
Fix dinner (everything I reeealy want to cook in the winter is beige: pasta, rice, potatoes, more pasta), and you guessed it, TV in the evening.
I’m no fool. If I lean forward from my recliner, I can see the handwriting on the wall. That’s why yesterday at 8:00 am I left for the Y in 14 degree weather, my swimsuit under my jeans and sweatshirt.
And yet this morning instead of heading to the Y’s treadmill, I lay in bed watching the trees outside swaying ominously back and forth, idly wondering which one would be the first to fall into the bedroom. Then I had a brainstorm. I could go right downstairs and do some floor exercises. No need to drive all the way to the gym. Yessir, I could get the same workout right here.
The reality? The sit-ups remain un-sat, the toes remain un-touched, and not one plank was constructed.