To those who know me – and deal with me In Real Life – let me extend my regrets that I seem to be dragging… you know what.
I am not peppy at present. My cup runneth over, not in a bad way, but I am nonetheless suffering sorry spillage over the edges of my personal and professional plate. This is especially precarious on petite portions of sleep.
No violins required.
However, insert melodramatic sigh here __________________.
My skill set includes adding to my tasks and interests with great panache. Unfortunately, subtracting when the load is heaped hellaciously high has never been my forte.
Yes, I really do need that efficiency expert.
The bottom line is this: I’ve been accomplishing the most critical items on my (numerous) lists, but I’m pooped. For those familiar with the workaholic’s ways, this is old hat and not necessarily a pretty one. I suspect I need a new hat. More flexible and feisty. More splendiferous and sassy.
Known for my stubborn streak (euphemistically labeled “persistence”), like most with nose to the grindstone I am skilled at persevering. (An excellent “P” word, by the way.) I carry on, with or without appropriate Stiff Upper Lip signage that elaborates on how I do so.
I don’t look up, much less perk up – unless offered dark chocolate or shoe shopping, and even then, lately, I’m unlikely to budge.
My perky quotient is low, low, low. I need a dynamic dose of something to get it up, up, up! But the question is how. Sleep would be lovely and no doubt of assistance, but I can’t seem to manage it. Paris would most definitely fit the bill, but l’addition, another sort of bill, would bust my budget.
Sadly, the only pounds I have to put toward Miller’s Wonderland are rapidly accumulating around my middle, rather than coming in the “sterling” variety that might result in a ticket aller-retour.
Early last evening, as I was undergoing ritual hair painting for my (ahem) minuscule accounting of silver hairs, staring at my brunette reflection, my brown eyes and brows, and the same-old, same-old, I began seeing red.
Or rather, considering a change to red. Yes, hair.
And why not? Could that return the pep to my step and the perk to my work? Or might it send me screaming into the sunset, shaking a fiery mane and in search of a big chapeau?
This isn’t the first time I’ve toyed with changing my hair color – I pondered red some years back, and the personality permissions to go with it – but is the fact that I’m revisiting this topic an evasion of more pressing particulars?
Am I bored with my surroundings? Bored with my life? I who claim to rarely be bored – am I simply “over myself” and in more ways than I can possibly recount?
Too Much Work, Not Enough Play
It’s a vicious cycle to those who slip into it – too much to do in too little time, the dilemma of too few zzzzs leading to overeating, which in turn makes you sluggish and less likely to exercise, which in turn affects mood – certainly if you pack on a few pounds.
(I’m feeling those assets dragging even lower and slower at the very thought.)
We need fresh air! Moving our bodies! Solid sleep! (Juicy dreams.) We need healthy food! (Yes, dark chocolate makes the cut.) May I add that a little love doesn’t hurt in that mix? Naturally, it’s another item to squeeze into the schedule.
And just how horrible is that – having to schedule love? Love on the to-do list?
Oh, the ever elusive myth of balance. I’ve moved “love” up the list – sane and saucy on my part – n’est-ce pas? However, something has to give – or gift me with increasing energy. But what? I can’t ignore exercise or sleep (though the latter has deserted me). So what about a style update? A makeover for my life? And I accomplish that how – in order to resurrect the peppy and perky persona?
A Walk on the Wild Side?
Do I need leopard heels instead of strawberry locks? Perhaps a leopard jacket? Would both be suitable for a walk on the wild side?
If budget and deadlines weren’t constraints, would I be leaving on the proverbial jet plane and winging my way across the Atlantic? In my finest français would I be imploring friends to lend me a sofa for ten days so I might inhale extraordinary art, stroll the streets of Paris, renew and refill at a cozy corner café? Could I diagnose whatever is ailing when nothing in particular is wrong except I’m restless and desirous of a change?
New Look for New Outlook?
I suppose I could consider new specs for new insights, or at least a new look. Wait, I have new glasses… Okay, not so new, but they’re red. Perhaps I should wear them more often. (Note to self: WEAR RED GLASSES. Take two aspirin. Call a friend in the morning.)
Or I need to haul my laptop to some other location and pour over the day’s tasks in more bustling surroundings, even a few hours every other day, which used to be part of my working and writing routine.
Why did I stop? Might that help? It’s certainly less costly than a dye job.
Lights! Camera! Color!
As for amping up the zip, the zest, and being at my best, I’m undecided how to approach my current dilemma. A style update would help tremendously and I know it.
A new perfume?
No. I love my Chanel.
Color affects me immediately, so perhaps I could dig out my bright throw pillows and toss them about in the hope that makes a noticeable difference. I could also go for keeping the raven locks, daring red lips, and searching out those spots… leopard lingerie perhaps, to match the chaussures?
Fatigue and restlessness. It’s a strange combination. How to check the fatigue at the door – and creatively put the energy to good use?
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