Some days it seems like I’m driving with the brakes on. No matter how hard I hit the accelerator, I get an equal and opposite reaction from somewhere deep inside that says, “Slow down.”
It’s like, when God made us (or when we incarnated ourselves, whatever you believe about that) we got bumped up a level in the Game of Life. “Easy” was too easy. So then somebody up there hit the “Difficult” setting. Now, at least, we have a challenge.
What I mean is, I have these marvelous intentions, just like everyone else does, I’m sure – to keep my apartment clean and orderly, to keep up with the paperwork at the office, and to stock my cupboards with healthy, organic fruits and vegetables.
What happens is that my desk ends up looking like half the trees in Canada came there to die; half the mail in Calgary came to my home to die, and half the beef in Alberta ended up in my tummy. And not an apple in sight.
Why do we do this to ourselves? I feel like a biblical figure, whining that I never do what I know is good for me.
Today I managed to push myself, brakes squealing loudly, to clean my apartment and invite a couple friends over for an old movie. (But really, Sean Connery never gets old.) And I have a bag of chips ready to eat. Mmm mm good. My body craves it. Stupid self-destructive wanna-be fat body.
Didn’t some new age writer once say that “surrender” is a good thing and “resistance” is a bad thing?
Maybe the chips aren’t so bad after all.