I had a bit of a funkitude last week. This home stretch of winter seems to kick my butt every year, despite my best attempts to load my medicine bag in advance with all sorts of tools and tricks. Instead, I medicated myself with naughty things like junky food and junky television, which aren't necessarily the recipe for the end of the world. But day after day after day of malnourishing choices add up ... and not just on the waistline.
The New Moon arrived last night at 9:51 p.m., but I felt the tide turn early in the day. I (finally) had the good sense to put myself on a flexible 3-day juice feast. By flexible I mean that I can eat other things, but the juice consumption must come first. Thankfully, what happened (and usually does) is that I was content with just the juice and things that were good for me. With some coaxing from my husband, I even made it back to the gym after a two-week long absence. When I went to bed last night, I suddenly felt, ahhhhh, better. Just better. The feeling of slogging uphill and upwind through wet cement began to fade away and a sense of lightness was awaiting me when I woke up. Today I'm hoping for a duplicate of yesterday. And tomorrow, despite the forecast for, gulp, more snow (and a lot of it, for Pete's sake) I cross my fingers for a triplicate.
I am setting aside time this weekend to play with art for art's sake. It's been a long time and it feels messy and fun. But love, love, love is definitely at the top of the day's agenda. Like Sally for Linus, I'm all hearts.