I'm an Adult

In November, I was taking fitness classes with a few friends. One of them was running around a bit differently than the rest of us. She said, "I don't feel like doing it that way."

Our trainer replied, "Hey, you're an adult. You don't have to do anything here you don't want to do." I love her for that statement.

I remembered her words last night when I was cozy in bed, feeling blue, really blue, midnight black almost, and not at all feeling like I wanted to go downstairs to write. "I'm an adult, I don't have to write tonight," I said to myself. Besides, I would have just written some drizzly, brooding crap you wouldn't have wanted to read. Yet, it's been gnawing at me that I have already skipped my resolution to myself - write something every day.

It is odd how we, or maybe just I, feel that once verbalized, a resolution might as well be written in granite. Or at least limestone. I have difficulty letting go of my commitments.

Twelve years ago, I signed up for a woodworking class. It was my first evening course after I finished my marketing diploma. I went into the class knowing full well that I was going to slack. Within a few minutes of class starting I would leave to get a pop from the vending machine. Then, I would sit and watch chips fly, sanders sand, and hammers hammer. I took great pleasure in participating in this class by not participating. I was Sodapop or Johnny from the Outsiders. I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to. Needless to say, the table I made was kindling within weeks.

Tonight, I have decided I am not going to pretend I wrote this yesterday. I'm heading to the store now to get myself a black cherry soda. When I get back, I might read a few other blogs, but probably just head back to bed.