*or what happens when a crafter goes (way) out of her comfort zone
i have always had issues with commitment. the kind that makes me start a project and not finish it. like a painting. or a scrapbook. or a paper craft.
i find this a Gemini trait (well, i have to blame this on something, right?).
so when my jiujitsu coach expects some form of solidarity with the team (that this is a brotherhood is sinking in) or some semblance of regularity and dedication to this martial art, i find my chest tightening a bit, like a momentary choke hold (pun intended).
because i know that if i continue to do this along with all my fears (injury is top of mind) and insecurities (me sucking at it big time) – all of which i have been trying to deal with – i will not be able to make it through the finish line, whatever that may be.
but i enjoy jiujitsu. and although i have yet to find a reason to do this for more than a few months (this is a sport, after all, and a very challenging one at that), i will try to keep at it and give it everything I’ve got (which is not really much for now). because Zumba is not an option (just so we’re clear).
i am keeping my legs in closed guard position, er, i mean crossed.
(a little voice in my head is telling me that perhaps i should spend my time catching up on PL projects instead of rolling. ignoring this in the mean time.)
(the word got stuck and played over and over in my head on the plane back to my new home. “lose weight” was another option. but that would have been two words. hehe.)
to meet kindred souls; form a new clique or two. to know my way around, on my own. to understand and speak the local dialect more.
to find my place in this part of the archipelago.
And this is how Sundays should be:
Saturdays are for work longer than one hour (hooray for that). Four hours to be exact.
Saturdays are for an unexpected discovery. That the yellow Duplo piece that has been missing from this particular stack has been in another building block container all along. This has confirmed what I have always believed: that sorting is not a very common skill among many. Seriously.
Saturdays are for mulling things over.
Where I am now, there are only a handful of us who do the kind of work that I do (maybe less than 10) to answer the needs of the whole of Northern Mindanao.
I have yet to learn the dialect and can only understand basic words and phrases. But nuances of human behavior that suggest denial, fear, anxiety, hope, acceptance, and faith are universal. In my practice, recognizing these is as essential as a clinical impression, delay in development, or limitation in function.
Ah, but all this thinking has left me tired (aside from a three-hour break before my last hour of work). And so Saturday is for a cozy nap on the couch. Hehe.
Saturdays are for more hands on time with the little guy. This means making him eat dinner, giving him a half bath, and putting him to sleep. Of the three, it is the last that is the hardest as he would try anything and everything to keep himself from falling asleep (I would have to agree that he did not get that from me).
And Saturday ends as quietly as it started.
Friday started with news that bitch slapped me hard. Perhaps this is the reason I kept myself busy today (and was only able to take pictures by midday).
Fridays are for trying out new things. Lunch (and dinner) was a chicken-potato-carrot-mushroom mix I made for the first time. It tasted fine although the hubby said it was bland (oh yes, he did). This is why I have all these domestic issues.
Friday is for work that started at 4 pm and ended at 5 pm (no typo error there). But, hey, don’t I look happy in that selfie? Work does that. It keeps the craziness at bay.
The little one comes to visit me at exactly 5 pm.
This is what I find on my clothes when we get home.
Fridays are for chilling out.
For a little bit of work and for chores.
And for time out a few minutes later. Hah.
And that is how we roll on a Friday.
The story of today is that I ran out of coffee (and the world stood still).
The story of today is that I let my angst hang heavily on my shoulders, as we drove around town and went on some errands.
The story of today is that my husband’s idea to make me feel better is to bring me to the mall.
To watch a movie (I sneaked a selfie in the restroom).
To look for a dress for next week’s event.
To buy some groceries where, interestingly enough, I find an ad in the vernacular (and, yes, I did buy some coffee).
We go home to find the little one glued to the computer. The story of today is that he kept on telling me he loved me as I sat beside him while he watched his favorite show, like he knew I needed to hear this.
To quote Finnick Odair, “it takes ten times more strength to pull one’s self together than to fall apart” (or something like that). And so the story of today is that I should perhaps just grin and bear it. Simply because where I am is where I need to be.
Truth be told, Wednesday is my favorite day.
I woke up today with a skip in my step. Because I had to limp as the toddler sat on my foot, full weight, yesterday. A reminder of my age and weight (and his as well).
Wednesday is the toddler’s turn to sleep in. Unusual really that it is almost 8 am and he is not out of bed yet.
Wednesday is the day that I venture out to work a bit early which, in reality, is just 36 steps away from our house. With the little one in tow, of course.
Wednesdays are for obsessing over little things.
Wednesdays are for a little father and son bonding that usually involves rough play.
Wednesday is for driving around town that is nearly deserted at 9 pm to look for ice cream. Because I realized that it will take time for me to adjust to this new life.
I find it in a little silver can. For a brief moment, I let it drown my sadness away.
And that is how I would like my Wednesday to end.