Challenged

I'm trying to be a cleaner, healthier, more hygeinic person, and the result is that I've slapped myself in the face with my own glove, cast down the gauntlet and issued an ultimatum to myself.

I said: "Self! Your apartment's a mess. ALWAYS a mess! Clean it up!"

So I'm trying to put away clothes as I try them on, decide against them and cast them into the chair-turned-laundry holder. I like my chair. More specifically, I like sitting in my chair, so I'm trying to keep the chair I like sitting in clear of the laundry I'm not wearing. I'm trying to do my dishes on a regular basis, vacuum my living room more regularly and (detested of all chores, for whatever reason) sweep and mop my kitchen more regularly.

I said: "Self! This not flossing every day stuff is nonsense! You have tons of floss — use it!"

So I'm trying to floss every day. Twice a day, if I can manage it. I don't like it, and my fingers don't like it, but my fingers and I, together, we're trying. My mouth feels happier.

I said: "Self! You've gained ten pounds since your gym closed. You're not challenging yourself enough! Running a couple nights a week isn't cutting it, and you keep eating lots of sugar and pizza and drinking quite a bit of alcohol. Cut it out!"

I can't say anything about the drinking alcohol bit, as anyone I spent Saturday night around can attest, but I'm trying to make up for the running bit. For a couple weeks, I told myself that if I did five miles every other night, well, that was good. More than good. And if I had stuck to it, it would've continued to be good, or more than good.

I didn't stick to it, though, because it was too easy, after one day off, to take another day off ... and another ... and another ...

The new challenge is to run three miles a night, six nights a week, and to see how that works for two weeks. And then I plan to add some mileage. Stop laughing.

I said: "Self! You talk to yourself way too much! Stop it!"

For two whole hours, I owned a stray cat who followed me, howling quite loudly, to my apartment. At 5 a.m., though, I gave up and took it to the animal shelter, where Officer Cleven kindly let a pyjama-clad me deposit the yowling orange-striped girl into a cage, asked me to fill out some paperwork, and watched as I drove home, crying all the way. I'm a terrible person. And I'm back to talking to myself. *sigh* Well, at least I'm still working on three out of four.