Day 33

Such a wealth of questions have poured in over the past two days that I don't know where to start. I think I'll start by disregarding the two posed by my supposedly non-drug-dependent husband:

Who does the sky eat purple lumpy???

Oh Oh and

If leprechauns were blue, why jump the sun milkshake???


I worry about him sometimes, too -  I think he absorbs large amounts of radiation from the environment and also may be sniffing glue behind my back. May have picked up a few nasty habits while working in a rehab. I will have to start checking the mushrooms I buy more carefully.

Which leaves me with the single other remaining question (thanks, Greg, your participation is noted and has earned you a sticker):

What's going to stick?

It's a confronting question. As much as I would like to think that everything on my list would be a keeper, I think we all know it'll rain skittles before that happens. Some things are definitely going to be thrown away and stomped on like a textbook at graduation, but there's a few that I have a hunch are well on the way to becoming established habits. Like the toothbrushing, and the face-washing. The bible-reading is slowly but surely picking up. Tablet taking is a go, and the takeaway revolution makes me feel so damn smug that when I drive past Maccas I almost want to stick my tongue out. So far, the recipe for determining what will become habit and what will become a nice memory one day seems to boil down to a few things:

1. Do I have to really think about it, or can I just decide to do it and then do it pretty automatically? The hardest part about toothbrushing, tablet taking or Black Milk buying is simply the initial decision to do (or not do) the action. Once commenced, if it's basically running itself then it's easy to make into a habit. Pelvic floor exercises, and stomach crunches, on the other hand, represent a great deal of concentration and require both mental and physical engagement. I'm almost certain I

2. Does it fly in the face of a pre-existing bad habit? As much as I hate it, when I'm stressed or tired, my fingers will tend to pick at spots of their own accord. Betraying, traitorous fingers. Talking about people behind their back is so entrenched that I would probably need to gaff tape my face for sixty days before the urge to do it passed fully. If there was Nicorette for gossiping, I would use it. I would have to go cold-turkey. When everyone else is heading out for a quick snitch-break, I would have to stay at my desk rocking back and forth and talk about an imaginary person to another imaginary person until the craving passed.

3. Do I really honestly believe that the effort is worth it? It's one thing to have a standard, and quite another to actually invest enough to keep it happening. When I was younger, I was mad keen about horse-riding and would have lived fully on horse-back only dismounting to pee, if that had been possible. My only dream was to own a horse (and associated equipment) that were fine enough to see me onto the competition circuit, at which point my very existence would have been made complete. Now, thanks to finances and an agreeably tolerant husband, that dream is within my reach. If I really wanted to, I could live the equestrian life, and throw myself into it with all the passion I could muster. However, deep down I know that the truth is, I'm not up for the sacrifice of that lifestyle - however much I still hold it up as my ideal. I don't want to give up the other stuff I would have to give up - like holidays, smelling nice and being able to walk with my knees nearly touching - in order to grab hold of the dream and make it mine. Some of my list items are probably in this category. I'm flirting with the image, but the reality is I just don't want it that badly.

I guess that's the real question - have I figured out which of my 'standards' is really important, and which ones are just imaginary ideals? I think it's slowly but surely becoming apparent. And as it turns out, I'm quite prepared to shake hands with diabetes at some unspecified date in the future, if it means I can eat Nutella out of the jar for now. At least if I have a giant mouthful of sticky goo, I'm less likely to be gossiping with leprechauns about how much weed Dave has been smoking lately...

M xx