Shoulds

My big kids are in Arizona for a few weeks with their dad. I should be doing a lot of things, but instead I sit here in sweats, a t-shirt, and no bra--no makeup either, only thinking of those things.

What is it with me and should? Like a dutiful girl, that word haunts my mind more than I realize, and usually when I buck against it, it's only to my own neglect.

For instance:

I should study my scriptures, but I don't feel like it.

I should be preparing my lesson for YW tomorrow, but I'll do it later.

I should be exercising, but I don't want to sweat.

I should clean my house, but it's boring and I don't want to.

See what I mean? I'd probably be a much happier person if I was reading my scriptures, preparing my lesson, exercising, or feeling comfortable in a sparkling house, and yet? I kick should in the teeth instead and wallow.

Take food. This last week I read Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food and Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I watched on Netflix No Impact Man and Botany of Desire. I know what to eat. I know what to do. I even have this luscious garden out back yielding her bounty. And yet, do you know what I had for breakfast? Triple Chunk Chocolate brownies. From a (very non-local) box (which I recycled at least). That had more than 5 ingredients, none of them healthy, and more than one of them unpronounceable.

Why? Why? Tell me! No, on second thought, don't. Because I know why, and the truth is too painful to bear right now.

Should, should, should! I'll do it all for my children, for just about anyone else. But me! I have no vision of me! I'm a fraud, a hoax, an illusion of a life!

Or, maybe I'm just tired and worn out.

sigh.

Okay, here's something I should do:

I should cancel all my piano lessons for one week. Take a break.

Done!

Now, with that week, I should pack up my stuff, and my Conor, and drive to St. George and get my fix of Amber, World's Greatest Best Friend Ever.

Yeah, that's just what I should do.