Staying Alive

A restless, uneasy morning. Another one of my sad sack moody days. Let’s see if I can tap away my mood in tiny bits and pieces. I feel the urge for a cup of decaf. I’ve already drank 2 large cups of Orange Pekoe tea. Is it the tea and coffee that I crave? Or is it the cream and honey that I put in them? I suspect it’s the latter. Some days I drink up to 5 cups of tea and decaf. Too much for my liking. The more I drink, the more I crave. It’s hard to stop. Using the knowledge that I’ve learned from Tiny Habits: The Small Changes that Change Everything I made myself a healthier cup of dandelion tea instead. I will use the feeling of craving for another cup of decaf as a prompt to make a cup of herbal tea instead.


Yesterday was hard. I found it difficult to finish writing so I didn’t. I felt bad, a physical and psychological pain at the same time. It might be hard for you to fathom that. I don’t know how else to describe it. I was not feeling good. I saw no purpose, no joy. I want to escape. If I could push a button and disappear, I would. Have you ever felt like that? I wonder if there was a blip in my brain chemistry. I knew it would pass. I put one foot in front of the other and carried on. I pretended I was John Travolta dancing to the tune of Staying Alive.

My brain blip did pass shortly after I had my afternoon visit with my father. I put in an effort. I couldn’t very well let everything hang out. It was good to see my father in a chipper mood. He is also putting in an effort. He is looking a little trimmer following my advice of cutting back on the rice and the leftovers. I told him it’s better to throw out a little bit instead of eating it because he didn’t want to waste. I am surprised that he listens to me on this and other matters. It goes to show that no matter how old you are, you can still change. My father will be coming 94 in July.

I can change, too. I’ve only had one cup of decaf yesterday and today instead of my usual 3 or 4. When my brain is wanting another cup, I make a cup of dandelion tea. i wasn’t able to draw a teacup yesterday for #the100dayproject. Not sure if I can today either. I will see. I am tired. I did a whole whack of gardening and weeding today. It is a good tired. I am staying alive.

TABATA – STAYING ALIVE

It’s a glorious autumn day. Colours of gold and orange, bright sun and a warm breeze. Lunch over. Dishes done. I’m sitting here with my tea and tap, tapping on the keyboard. I’m feeling pretty mellow and content. No crazy erratic thoughts or energy running through my head or body. There is peace in the moment. I have this morning’s tabata class to thank.

 

Exercise is my big magic. I show up. Some days I rather not but I do. It gets me out of the house. It gets my feet moving and my heart pumping. Soon I’m singing and dancing like John Travolta – Yea, yea, staying alive, Staying alive! I pump my arms and wiggle my hips. Then I start enjoying it.

When things are tough, I have to work at everything. That’s just how it is. I don’t have to like it but there are things that I still have to do. I cannot put my head under the blanket until things pass. What I have learned is that things do pass but more things come to fill the space. You are never free of ‘things’. The only freedom lies in changing your thinking and feelings. I guess that’s what’s called ‘acceptance’. Hooray, I think I’ve finally got it! Well – until the next time. But in the meantime, Let’s strut a little.

STAYING ALIVE

I’ve been away too long, lost among overgrown untravelled paths this last while with no fiction in my mind nor fingertips.  But I’ve found my way back to this favourite spot – Friday Fictioneers.  It’s where storytellers gather to tell their tales of 100 words or so according to a photo prompt.  We are hosted by our gracious host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Here is my tale of 99 words.

traffic lights

The glare of headlights nearly blinded her.  She clung onto the steering wheel with all her might, willing the car to stay the course.  Horns honked and blared.  She willed herself not to scream.  Everything was coming at her every which way.  What kind of nightmare was she in?  Was she sleeping or awake?

She remembers going down this road so many times.  Oh, how she wishes she could forget. Memory lane is not what it is cracked up to be.  Where’s the champagne and balloons? Where’s the laughter?  Where’s John Travalta singing Staying Alive?  Where’s……Oh my  God, Nooo!