|Help! My inner hothouse flower has taken control. Source: MorgueFile|
These December days my inner hot house flower is in the driver's seat, with the radio on full blast, singing at the top of her lungs. ...
Na na na-na na. It's nothin' but dreamin' anyhow."
Sensible me squeaks, "Go outside. Two walks a week. It won't kill you," ... but other brain parts drown that out too, busy as they are with seasonal concerns:
Frontal lobe: "Don't even think about eating that chocolate cake."
Hippocampus: "Yumm. Sugar. Carbohydrates."
Frontal lobe: "We just ate two cookies and a piece of pie!"
Hippocampus: "Sugar Carbohydrates. Must. Have. Chocolate. We can go to the gym tomorrow and run on the treadmill for seven hours."
Pons: "Hey guys, no need to fight. Maybe we can work something out here."
Hippocampus and Frontal lobe: "Get out. We're busy."
|"Just a few more berries." "No way, shut up and go to sleep."|
Doesn't this scene make you want to roll back into bed?
It was dreary out there. Even the hummingbirds, intrepid winter denizens that they are, weren't around, maybe because there was two inches of snow on their feeder. Knocked the snow off.
Within minutes a bird zipped past, zeroing in on the sugar water. Probably starving. OK, message received. Self talk? Hibernation? Fine, as long as they don't drown out the world. 'Tis the season. May your inner orchid be coddled and quiet, so the hummingbirds get fed. Happy holidays.
Tips for getting myself out of my car and the house are welcome.
(Update on the quest to commute, powered by muscle, 104 times in 52 weeks. Week 32: walked 2x, bicycled zero. Week 33: walked 3x, bicycled zero. Week 34: walked 1x, bicycled zero. Grand total: 81, 13 in the bank).