You see, it's cold out there, and that turns me into a rather reluctant rambler. It shouldn't really, and it doesn't always have this effect in December or January or February. You see, my tiny, little mind equates those months with winter, and I embrace the season to a certain degree. I have walked on very cold days in those months and been quite warm. That's the thing with cold weather; you can pretty well always get warm. You can don layers of space age wonder material and be warm and toasty on the coldest days. I know it, and I've done it.
But it's March, and I no longer feel like girding my loins for wintry battle. If it's cold out, as it was today and many days recently, I find myself retreating into a fetal position and whimpering
I haven't been totally bad. I have willed myself into the basement to work out at least twice (it's not as impressive as it sounds), and that's a good thing, and I have done my weekly linedancing tour of duty, and those things do count. Also, just last night, I copied and printed exercises from You: On a Diet. I haven't done them yet, but I have printed them. I have good intentions, you see.
Unfortunately, however, it's the season of winter blahs, and I find it hard to soldier on in the cold. That is compounded by the desire to eat more — more junk if possible. Potato chips lure me like the sirens of the deep lure sailors who haven't sighted
But, it's supposed to warm up to above freezing on the weekend. It may even rain and wash away some of the snow and maybe some of my lethargy and cravings. It will happen relatively soon. Spring will come, and we'll be celebrating new beginnings. Before long I'll once again feel good about our four seasons — even the winter part. It just overstays its welcome. That's all.