Not So Fast

Dearest Rachel –

Seven in the morning, and you’d think I’d be raring to go, especially after calling it a night at nine last night. You’d think that ten hours of sleep would allow me to recharge my internal batteries to the point where I’d be ready to take on the world first thing in the morning. I was certainly hoping to, after all this time without hitting the gym, which has pushed me back to the wrong side of the hundred-kilo mark. Even though Lars and I will be going walking today (which means I ought to get this letter out to you quickly – but I’ll get to that in a moment), I thought a workout beforehand would do me good. I didn’t want to present him with a disappointing number when he asks about my weight – and he will ask, you can count on that.

But that would have required a nine-to-five sleep, and somehow, that’s not what happened. I opened my eyes to a gray and cloudy – but well-lit, given the weather – room, indicating that I’d slept far longer than I’d intended to. At the same time, you might think that’s a good thing in and of itself, as clearly my body needed those extra hours of sleep. There wasn’t even a mental moment where mind and body argued between getting up or hitting some internal snooze button – this was a night of solid sleep until getting up. I’m doing myself good, and giving both body and mind what they wanted and needed, rather than driving myself to do something no part of me really wanted to do.

So why am I so lethargic and disappointed in myself, staring at a blank page while I try to tell you about what’s going on?

It’s not a question of writer’s block, that’s for sure. At the moment, I’ve got dozens of drafts of letters started to you. Sure, better than half of them are stories about things that were happening at a certain time that have since been rendered obsolete (and others that I wouldn’t dare publish online for just anybody to read over your shoulder, either due to naming names or just being too salacious), but there’s a number of them that could be held in reserve for a day when nothing is going on around me that’s any different than any other day. At least a couple of them look like the framework for the story I’d like to write about what I remember about us, how I’m dealing without you, and what you might be doing while you’re waiting for me (using the working title of “After Happily Ever”). And, let’s face it, I think I’m even starting to make decent progress on this letter to you today, despite earlier thinking of myself of being unmotivated. But still, there’s a certain amount of lethargic gloom hanging over me; why is that?

I suppose it could be the dimness of the day. I’ve never thought of myself as suffering from seasonal affective disorder, but the diminishing amount of light as the northern world heads into winter doesn’t do one many favors. And it’s not helped by the fact that those clouds I mentioned earlier starting to get too heavy for their own good and dropping rain on the area; I don’t know what this is going to mean for our walk today, but I’d really rather not deal with the rain on my head – or the mud on the ground (I wonder if the hiking boots I wore last week contributed to the sore ankles I’ve been dealing with ever since) – but at the same time, I don’t think we get the same kind of exercise from the various turns around the shopping mall, either.

Likewise, there’s this chill in the air brought on by the rain. Granted, the heater has been up and running in the bedroom for the past week or two already, but there are moments when you feel the cold that much more than others. Mornings are especially troublesome in that regard, as you well know. The sun has been down for nearly the entire time I’ve been asleep; even if it was over the horizon before I woke up, the cloud cover is such that it can’t break through and warm up the land – not that it’s had much time to do so, in any event. Meanwhile the rain, by its very nature the result of a collision of warm and cold fronts, ushers in cooler air that will likely hang over us for a day or two that simply compounds the effect of the season as things cool off going into winter. It all works together to slow oneself down.

Of course, there’s also the dismay from stepping on the scale and seeing where I am in terms of progress (or rather, regress). It’s not at all surprising, considering the circumstances, but the fact that I’d sort of planned to work off a few calories being going to meet with Lars – because I didn’t want to report that number to him – only to sleep in by several extra hours, thus preempting that plan, doesn’t exactly put a spring in one’s step, either.

So that’s where things are this morning, honey. I was hoping to get off to a roaring start to the day, but things… well, conspired isn’t quite the word for it; let’s go with coincided for now… to set what plans I’d made aside. With things as they are, my self winds up saying to myself “not so fast, there, big fella,” and I have to take it slower than I meant to. Again, it’s probably necessary – in fact, I’m still yawning as I’m wrapping this up to you, several hours after having started (although you’re probably only a few minutes into this as you’re reading this) – but I don’t feel that much better about it for that realization. Still, if you could keep an eye on me throughout the rest of the day as I try to get back on my feet, honey, I’d appreciate it. And if you could wish me luck, that would be great, too, because I’m going to need it.