I’m not recovering well. There’s a laundry list of things that hurt– my hands, my wrists, my feet, my shoulders, my hip/hamstring, my lower back– and it seems like no matter how little I do in my workouts, I’m still hurting. On the other hand, I haven’t had a lot of downtime. I think my shoulders and hands and wrists hurt from holding up the sign in the wind, and my feet are made twingier by standing around.
I debated what to do at the gym today, or even to go at all. In the end I settled on half an hour on the elliptical and some nice stretching. Easy peasy, though my knee got unhappy. Body, why you falling apart on me. I need to do my last Yoga January practice tonight, too…
So yeah, I should be working harder on self-care. My brainparts are in rough shape too, worn out by constant dread. I was in the kitchen cooking the other night with music on shuffle and the Peter Paul and Mary song Day is Done came on and I just lost it.
My mom was born in 1960 so she’s a little young for it but the protests of the ’60s about issues like Vietnam and Civil Rights were in the background when she was growing up. When that weird ’60s revival happened in the 1990s she was nostalgic and so excited to share protest music with me and help me paint my room with peace signs and flowers. But now she doesn’t understand why I’m spending so much time with signs and slogans at government buildings. Can’t I just accept what’s happening? No. I can’t.