It's Sunday. 24 December. The night before Christmas. All through the house everyone is stressed about something.
There's sausage casserole to make, and TV to watch, and books to read and ... and ... and ....
It's Sunday. 24 December. It's Christmas Eve. For the life of me I can't think of a single thing to be stressed about. And yet here I am feeling stressed.
Kim and I went to the local 24 hour fitness center with mom. She has a membership. We moved through the poses. It was fine.
There's family. There's the new dent in my car.
There's a sense about town of: "She's mad at me." "He's upset about something." "Why would he do that?" "What was she thinking?"
There's a sense of sadness in a town that worships at the foot of Walmart.
We grew up on farms and we've become okay with baby carrots. We grew up in the country - where people used to cook food - and we've become okay with taking things out of a freezer and popping them in a microwave.
There are three former Walmart's in my hometown. Three. All huge. All basically vacant. The 24 hour fitness facility is in iteration two of Humboldt's Walmart timeline.
The most recent one is further out of town and bigger and has plenty of baby carrots.
It's Sunday. 24 December. It's the night before Christmas.
Showing up to the mat today was not the easiest thing. But I did it. Kim did it. We did it together, showed up and moved through the poses. Consistency is not always pretty, nor is it always happy/fun time, but it's a step in the process. The process is what matters. I'm going to post this and get back to spending time with my family.
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