When I was oh-so-younger, I kind of prided myself on my lack of routine. Or, should I say lack of proactive routine because I actually had a routine - it was procrastinate, procrastinate, procrastinate and then shift shit into HIGH gear and get it all done in a not-at-all humanly possible time frame. Like the time I missed eight graphics classes in a row in high school, did all the assignments in two class periods and got an A+ for the semester.
I've never read a study anywhere that correlates the two, but I venture a rather educated guess that I was - am - addicted to the surge of adrenaline that I got in a time crunch. Because it is certainly not that I am lazy... but I can't get anywhere on time, do anything ahead of time or put a plan on paper to save my life. That is until I let a surgeon suck 80% of my tummy out a hole he cut next to my belly button.
See, the Tiny Tummy won't heal if I don't exercise. The Tiny Tummy needs to eat every two hours. The Tiny Tummy needs a frozen lunch bag every morning. The Tiny Tummy has to eat 65 ounces of protein and two multi-vitamins every day or my hair is going to fall out. The Tiny Tummy needs a clean shaker ball cup every morning to consume said protein. The Tiny Tummy can't risk running late in the morning and not packing a lunch (or four). And the Tiny Tummy has appointments with a nutritionist and appointments with an internist and appointments with a surgeon and appointments with a primary care physician and appointments with Jillian, therapist to the stars.
The Tiny Tummy (and, let's be honest - grad school) has forced me in to a routine. And, apparently, I like being a person with a routine. I have never felt more accomplished and energetic and free of guilt and, I don't know... normal. It has been quite awesome.
But routines and habits are fragile little things. All it took was one "off week" - a week where there was too much homework and too much work work and a few added stressors about money and shit.just.fell.apart. I haven't been exercising regularly, I've missed more than one multi-vitamin, I stayed up one night - all night - and, *gasp* I ate a pretzel-covered hot dog. Okay, I ate half a pretzel-covered hot dog - not the point, really.
The point is - I feel like shit. The energy is gone and, worse yet, the guilt is back. It's been a week and a half of "I should" and "I ought." I've lost my Tiny Tummy mojo!
I'm torn between a state of giving myself a little grace - they're not all going to be perfect weeks - and a state of fear that the mojo is never coming back. I jumped on the Pilates Rebounder tonight for half an hour and one side of my brain is congratulating me for exercising while the other side is screaming, "Slacker!"
Tiny Buddha recently reminded me that each new day is another chance to change your life. Guess we'll try again tomorrow.