I’m free of exercise this week because the heater on the pool is broken. G tempts me with things like, “Camille and Amy were in the gym this morning.” Or, “Come to the gym after you write; you can shower there.” Isn’t that penny pinching? It’s as if any physical exercise would tempt me away from laboriously crafting an entry this morning. I took time yesterday to work on a photo but not to write. Today I really want to put words down here, but not exercise. No matter what all those wonderful doctors, my common sense, and reality tell me, exercise is dreadful stuff.
I moved about yesterday instead. Under thin, high clouds, I ran the tax papers to our CPA by the bay. He sits at the rear of his darkened office and meets with clients far away from the blue of the water and the clear dreaming of the sail boats outside his door. He loves his numbers. I love his view.
I crawled over the ridge of Point Loma, slowly because the major artery to the end of the Point was closed by police by an early morning major accident. I lookie looed with all the rest as I passed by on my way to the jewelers. Another point on my keeper ring missing. “Did you lose another garnet,” he asks as I come in his door. “Just a point to hold one in,” I reply. I hate losing my beautiful rich colored garnets.
On to the tailor. I bought a dress from Land’s End knowing it would be too big but not how much too big. This day, not only do I get a parking place right in front, she takes the top of the dress in four inches a side. Nothing in on the bottom half. Even as I lose a pound a week most weeks, my bottom half persists in being a 22.
Knowing I will never look like the models in the catalogue, I’m still pleased my top half is now an 18. Perhaps that’s a journey in itself.