Life's a bitch, but motivation is a bastard

Quote du jour: People often say that motivation doesn't last. Well, neither does bathing. That's why we recommend it daily. -- Zig Ziglar

Can't I just lay me down to sleep and stop with the exercising already?

Okay, I'll confess. I did it! I murdered Colonel Mustard in the Conservatory with the wrench! Motivation has been rather thin around Chez Merry of late. It's about the only thing that could be described as thin.
But why bother trying?
What's the point?
What do you mean, 'depressed'?

Since I moved up to the frozen wilds of Oregon, I can generally count on February being pretty damn depressing, as months go. Now that March has started to Ide its way onto the stage, I'm beginning to think that maybe... just maybe... that "spring" thing they keep talking about might be willing to consider making an appearance. And in spring a young at heart, though not so much in the knees woman's thoughts turn toward exercise.

Any day now, I'm going to get my motivation back.

Last time I checked, it was standing by the side of the freeway, holding a sign that read "Maui or Wherever." (My motivation isn't proud. It just wants out of here. Did it think to invite me along? Of course not. Selfish, that's the only way to describe this sort of behavior.)

Still, when spring rolls around... my motivation is apt to slink in the back door, avoiding my eye and making small talk about how bad the roads have been and how hitching a lift isn't as easy as it used to be in the old days.

It's inevitable. Soon as the daffodils start blooming and the allergies start sneezing, Mr. Motivation shows up expecting me to take up the pursuit of exercise with him as if nothing had ever happened. The bastard. One of these days, I'm just going to change the locks.

Site du jour: "Italian Catholics Picket Parade, Jealous of Irish Catholic History of Oppression"

Exercise du jour: Look, don't expect great things. Me and Mr. M. are barely on speaking terms. Expect 20 minutes on the Elliptical. Maybe a couple miles walking. That's about it.

Done! Hey, some days (like this one), 20 minutes exercise is a friggin' miracle. I seem to recall reading that the ancients considered March to be the beginning of the new year. Maybe my body is simply responding to the rhythms of my Celtic ancestors. Hell, it's as good an excuse as any. For today, this was a victory.