For a few days I couldn’t bring myself to blog and risk bumping the Net Neutrality topic down the list. Then I remembered that I could refer to it and direct my 2.5 readers down the page. Duh. So, 2.5 readers, please scroll down to read about how to Save the Internet.
That said, let the blogging begin!
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It occurred to me the other day for the bagillionth time that I have allowed myself to become stuck in a rut. Parts of the rut I wouldn’t change for the world. My honey and my dogs and cats are at the top of that list. Some parts of the rut are maybe not so hot. Like the part where I think about how thin I was before I moved to frigid one minute, broiling and humid the next New England (land of Weather Vomit), yet somehow never make the trip to the store to buy the expensive special clothes you need to excercise in rain, sleet, snow or sun here.
Or the part where I feel like I can’t have One. More. Conversation. About. The. Damn. Red Sox. without puking. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love baseball and I enjoy watching the Red Sox, I just think that there is a limit to how many times you can travel a verbal rut and say some of the many Sox-platitudes like “Well it is still early” or “But their stats are up for the year, they’ll come around” during a game where your team ends up losing 15 – 3. I’m just saying.
It isn’t all about baseball though. Honey has also taken up Golf. Notice the capital G? Yep, he is that kind of golfer. *sigh* I hate golf. I moved from my native South Carolina, and while I do occasionally miss the people or the music or the proximity to good cajun/creole food (and to Calabash) I so do not miss the endless, endless golf. South Carolina is so all about golf they try to hook ‘em young, like cigarettes, and keep ‘em hooked til they die. Why is honey’s new golf addiction sad? At first, it wasn’t. In the beginning, I told honey how I felt about golf and that it would make me happy if we could compromise – I didn’t want golf to become a) a money argument or b) an obstruction to family time or c) something that made me all naggy (shudder). Last year, all went well on that front. This year, not so much. So the golf thing is becoming part of the rut I travel.
I could go on waxing poetic about state of this rut I ride, dribbling examples all over the page, but that really isn’t the point of this post. The truth is that while I was pondering this rut I travel, I also started pondering how I’ve grown attached to it. The good parts shine. The bad parts fester like a tumor under the skin. In spite of that dichotomy I hug my rut like a pet, close to my chest and protective. This road I travel has become crumbly in places, and even knowing I can stop the ride and fix the problem hasn’t motivated me to let go of my well worn path.
The reality is that my life is in my hands. Changing is difficult, but not impossible. Impossibility is just one of the many excuses I use to keep trodding along at the same snail’s pace. I will have to learn to keep the things I do not want to change, like my honey and my dogs and cats, and change the things that aren’t good for me. Time to make my life take a new direction. The list of rut-inducing behavior is long, so tackling things one at a time might take forever (or fohevah, as they say here). I guess I’ll just tackle all of it, then, not being known for my patience. I sense more blogs on my progress in the future (hey, anything for new material, right?).