Last week Monday was the last straw on ignoring my lazy, laissez faire cake eating lifestyle. I was having dinner and tucked my chair in so that Mary 1 could get to her seat. I’d tucked about three times but it was likely that the angle was wrong.
“Can you move?” she asked.
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” I muttered. I realised what I was saying when I reached the ‘fuh’ sound, then realised that I’d have to commit to this off colour turn of phrase because nothing else suggested itself. I didn’t like it but I had to because it’s a habit.
This is something I really should correct as Muslims are charged to be ‘courteous and sweet speaking.’
I also have a habit of swearing in Spanish, French and German, but I was feeling lazy. I often call my intransigent computer a puta. (I think this is etymologically defensible if you get caught, but doubt that my laptop is a career harlot.) The internal puta inside my brain said:
“She can’t even get to her chair after you’ve tucked it in, you’ve got that overweight. Sort it out.” So on Monday I did fifteen minutes of stretches, had my usual breakfast (which is quite healthy) and then spent an hour and a half doing a circuit of some green space the company of some trees. They take everything bad, and give oxygen back.
It was also quite creatively reviving. There were other, more swirling trees which emerged like many-armed Hindu goddesses, like the hands of the vengeful dead, like gnarled dervishes… I tried not to scare myself. It was good, it was whole, it was rooted. It did make me think of fairy-tales, but there was also springtime to chart.
I felt like out of the mire of Winter, something new was stirring. And I was glad to own myself again, to live in my body and also to live in the Present.
I will also try not to be a bleeping bleep. And to lose seven pounds. Sorry Mary 1.
~ Pola ~