Until recently I was hitting the gym 5-to-6 times weekly. Spinning Mon-Wed-Fri, plus yoga and maybe a kick box or strength training class. Then I met the manfriend (and found him a better way to spend my free time) and work got nutty and I've been pants down and sleeves rolled up in more doctors offices since the beginning of the year than all of last...and...I feel like crap.
I just want to drink wine or dirties, eat roasted sweet potatoes and watch reruns of the "The Office." And it’s not just about sickness (which I’m not), it’s about not putting myself into the mix.
So fuck that.
Decided this morning to try new classes and new teachers at the gym all next week. As of late I prefer to do on my own, just me and the headphones and the treadmill. I don’t want to be part of the group which I whole heartedly correlate to work pressure. Suddenly I'm leading meetings and taking issues to management yet (soon) will be just another writer in a pool of workhorses, already hounded for "availability" when projects have me booked through next week, classes beyond that. I don’t take authority or direction well because, well, I purposefully chose a career that lets me work mostly solo and don’t need Mommy with a clipboard on the job. And mostly because the direction comes from those with no creative juice and ju-ju, but management speak. I already understand three weeks into this new role why the writers in my group feel a bit like the rowers in the underbelly of a boat, simply and tiredly pulling on oars. Because although we’re now set up like a creative agency (in theory), we’re not. We’re a corporation, a mass of project managers and coordinators and advisors and schedulers and specialists and other titles that mean little in the real world. Told my writers I’d buy them all magic wands. Some like me, some don’t. I already get that.
And I’m not happy.
The tired I don’t wholly blame on a body out of sync. I just want to do and be and write and live and sweat and take care of me. Actually meet up with the long-distance-phone-call friend an hour down the highway and sneak away with another for a Friday afternoon snack last minute. Take the improv class I keep talking about, or the cooking lessons the niece just mentioned. Type on my laptop in the coffee shop and not my pajamas.
Take a proper damn vacation.
So I'm gonna.