So I'm sorting laundry last night, always a joy, and I happen across an old pair of jeans that are worn through the seat; must've been tossed there haphazardly when the room was smithereened last week from the contractors. So I turn them into cutoffs and I'm all set to toss the legs in the trash, when it dawns on me—yoga mat bag! I had just come from Target where I'd bought a yoga strap and new exercise mat for situps and such (shorter and more cushiony than a yoga mat, already have one of those), and found myself gazing wistfully at the yoga mat bags they have, rather fashionable looking things starting at $19.99. Well, I'm lucky I can afford the yoga strap right now, so I didn't give 'em much more than a second glance, but it was still on my mind. Even though my yoga is done out of the public eye, I'd still like something other than the box it came in for storage purposes. So when I found myself in possession of denim material almost the perfect length for a yoga mat bag, well, my new project light went on in my head, and my knitting went to the side. By end of night, the laundry was done and I'd hand-sewn one leg shut. I still need to add some material from the other leg and figure out how to fashion a flap for opening and closing, and a strap, which'll also probably need to be hand-sewn because I'm an amateur who's not to be trusted with sewing in the round on a machine with tension issues—would definitely cause tension issues with the sewer as well. Still, felt quite useful while doing this. Most of my knitting's going to the side soon anyway, in favor of Alexa's poncho. We're hashing out possible yarns right now. I'm going to see if I can do a poncho for Lena (her 3 year old) at the same time; I think it'd be neat if they matched. Love these delusions of aptitude!
Off topic, but important to me...the workout stuff was purchased because of a weird dream I had. My biological clock is so out of control, I dreamed I was pregnant. I must've been feeling my belly while I slept, because in my dream I was 7 months along, but it sure didn't feel like it. I just got why I was 7 months along...I'd watched parts of Red Carpet Emmys and Jen Garner's in her 7th month...anyway, the feelings this dream evoked, about something growing inside of me,...it can't even be called maternal...it was primal and natural, as in linked somehow with nature at its deepest source. I spent yesterday analyzing it with one half of my head (the other half had to edit a website or two), and realized I'd reached a turning point. I'd say "again" because I've certainly had these little epiphanies before, but something's different. It wasn't just that I don't want to be pregnant in this body (which is 85 pounds more than I'd like to be); it's that life is harder to live in this body, period. Simple things like going up and down stairs, carrying boxes and bags, standing up from a damn sitting position in the bathtub are a chore that's become embarassing. I spent the day 2 Sundays ago cleaning the dining room. It meant moving a wealth of shit around, packing a box or two, placing them in different spots, reorganizing the bookcases—the room was a disaster area from noon to 9 that day. Got a lot accomplished, but it's all indoor stuff, simple tasks, so you don't think about what muscles you're using. I was so freakin' sore the next day, you'd think I'd walked 10 miles! I probably won't be that sore doing the 3 mile this weekend. It's sobering when you're otherwise healthy, in your mid-30s, with no history of respiratory issues, and you're getting winded climbing the stairs to your apartment with stuff in your hands. So maybe it's finally time to take care of me.
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