Today is not the happiest of days.
It should be, you know? It's a gorgeous, sunny, low-humidity morning. I listened to my iPod on the walk to work -- lots of Glee mixed with my old stand-by punk and pop-punk favorites. I'm having a good hair day (no doubt assisted by aforementioned low humidity). I'm wearing an awesome bright teal scarf that cooperated when I tied it, so it's arranged beautifully and falls perfectly.
But I'm really struggling today, guys. I've got some immense...I don't even know. I'd call it "guilt," but it's really not guilt. It's more like self-loathing, I guess.
It's not completely out of nowhere. I know what triggered it. Around 5:15 or so yesterday, I started to get hungry -- so I had the other half of my Clif Builder's bar, so I'd be ready to hit the gym after I got home. PhillyGuy offered to pick me up from work, and he got there just before 6.
Right after I hopped in the car, he looked at me. "I have a proposition. Can we get rotisserie chicken for dinner?" And I knew he meant "now, on our way home, and eat it immediately."
I told him I'd just had a clif bar, wasn't really hungry and wanted to go to the gym. And he told me he was really tired, he'd had a long day and was hungry...and that I could go to the gym, but he wasn't going to come with me. And he wanted dinner.
I could have gone anyway. I REALLY WANTED to go anyway. But instead, I decided that it would be OK to skip it, and that I'd have dinner with my husband, who's been traveling a bunch lately and who I haven't really seen much at all in the past few weeks.
So I skipped it. We stopped at Healthy Bites and got some random stuff -- I had a piece of lemon sole with capers and a chicken breast stuffed with roasted peppers, tomato and a goat cheese/pesto combination. I ate most of the sole and half of the chicken. That was it.
And then PhillyGuy had to get some work done. And I sat on the couch. That's when I started feeling guilty, and feeling like I'd made the wrong choice by not working out. It carried throughout the night -- watching Top Chef, heading up to bed. It carried through to this morning, when I realized at 6:15 that, even though I'd set my alarm for 5am so I could get up and run, I had turned it off and gone back to sleep. It carried through to picking out my outfit for the day -- I picked one out and changed because the pants were still too snug. It carried through to the rest of my morning routine -- taking out the trash, making my breakfast/lunch, watering the plants on the balcony. It carried through to my walk to work -- I beat myself up for not taking advantage of the fabulous low humidity and perfect running weather. When a favorite running song came onto my iPod, I mentally kicked myself because I should have been listening to it hours ago, when the streets were emptier and the sun lower in the sky.
This is SO NOT PRODUCTIVE.
And here's the really cheese part: I got to work and put my lunch down on my desk. When I take a smaller handbag to work -- one that doesn't fit my little tupperware -- I pack my food in a Lululemon bag. You guys probably all know how their bags have all kinds of great pictures and inspirational statements on them. This one caught my eye:
That works in reverse, too -- how much you like yourself is going to directly affect your outlook on life. If I spend the rest of the day killing myself for skipping the gym yesterday and eating "extra" dinner, I'm going to be an enormously miserable bitch and my day is going to suck. It's going to be reflected in the work that I do, and how I handle the inevitable bajillion phone calls with clients. And it's just not necessary and definitely not productive.
So, here goes nothing. Berries and yogurt for breakfast. I'm on my second cup of iced coffee, which, thanks to Starbucks VIA and my fabulous travel cold cup, I didn't even need to go downstairs to get.
(seriously - how adorable is that red and white straw?)
In general, I intend to combat my obnoxious self-loathing and negativity by being obnoxiously positive and happy. I figure it'll average out and make me a normal person at some point.