Too tired to write. Too tired to think. Too tired to try. Too tired not to yawn. Too tired to imagine. Too tired to eat. Too tired to get up from the floor. Too tired to read. Too tired to celebrate. Too tired to rage. Too tired to believe I matter. Too tired to sing. Too tired to remember. Too tired to revise. Too tired to know better. Too tired to get help. Too tired to stop gritting my teeth. Too tired to wash my face. Too tired to plan for tomorrow. Too tired to care. Too tired. Too, too tired.
Layoffs. My husband is just one of millions now collecting unemployment. He’s accustomed to waking before the morning light peeps through our shutters so he can get on the road before rush hour traffic more than doubles his commute time. The hours he had to keep now seem like such a small thing compared to the thick stack of bills my salary can’t possibly cover.
Worries. I know fretting about the economic conditions that led to the difficulties many of us are experiencing isn’t helpful, but it’s not easy to keep my mind from drifting into dark terrain.
Grace. So I take a deep breath and listen to the delicious sound of rain tap, tapping on the skylights above. I look into the fire burning in our stove, knowing we have enough wood stacked outside to last us through this winter and next. I’m grateful to have a home today, even though it’s now worth less than we owe on it. No one knows what lies ahead. I may as well not assume the worst.
There is wisdom to be gained at each of life’s many turns.
When my doctor gave me “lipid panel” results from a Dec. 12 blood test, he suggested I consider taking statin drugs because my total cholesterol was at 261, and I have a family history of heart disease. I rarely even take cold medicine, so taking drugs every day to keep my cholesterol down isn’t something I want to do.
So, here’s what I did:
Stopped eating cheese almost entirely. I ate it maybe three times between Dec. 12 and Feb. 5, when I had my second blood test.
Starting having oatmeal every other morning for breakfast.
Added a whole clove of fresh garlic to a meal (after the meal was cooked so the garlic was raw) on the days I didn’t have oatmeal for breakfast.
Cut way back on eating omelettes and egg salad, having a serving of eggs less often than once a week.
Began incorporating a monounstaurated fatty acid (MUFA) into each meal. I used avocados, olives, peanut butter, almond butter, mixed nuts, pumpkin seeds and very dark chcoclate.
Got a pedometer and upped the number of steps I take in a day from about 3,000 to about 6,000.
Started using the elliptical trainer in our family room, maybe four times a week, sometimes only doing 10 to 15 minutes, other times doing 30 minutes.
Started listening to Learning Strategies Corp.’s “Perfect Health” CD either before I fall asleep or upon waking almost every day.
So, that’s it. This was fairly easy to do. I feel better overall, lost 10 lbs. in the process, and now have LDL at 127 and HDL at 64, which is a very good ration of “bad” to “good” cholesterol in addition to being what is considered to be a normal level of cholesterol. And it took less than two months.
I just thought it might be helpful information for anyone else whose cholesterol needs to come down.
I’ve joined the legions of folks attempting to knock out 50,000 words in the month of November by participating in Nanowrimo. I’m using the commitment to explore more than to have a book by the time I’m through. Ideas for fiction, possibilities to follow up —that’s what I’m after.
Some days it’s like riding down a water slide on a hot day, the words coming out like a nice refreshing spray to soothe my skin. And there’s a smooth landing when my writing time is up.
Other days it’s like being stuck in a garbage bin. The stench is horrid; the fetid matter is deep; I’m mucking around; the walls are high; I can’t figure out how to either scale them or jump high enough to clear them.
Some days it’s like being in an empty room. White floor, walls ceiling, no windows, one white door, which opens to another white room, exactly the same, which opens to another and another and another. The endless boredom of that is suffocating, but not completely. There’s always another door, another day.