So, I did not eat that cookie last week. Even after an exceptionally frustrating afternoon. Instead, I came home, read a great book on our balcony, cracked open a beer, and convinced Gary that we should go out for Mexican. I also put the pie my mom made for me in the freezer so I wouldn't be tempted to sit down with a fork and inhale the entire thing, probably in the middle of the night.
Did I eat my feelings ole? Maybe a little bit, but I needed to eat dinner anyway. I didn't go overboard. I didn't necessarily feel better, either, but it's just food. It's not a remedy for the soul.
I've been in a serious funk for the past week. I didn't exercise at all last week - I did 30 minutes of Yoga on Tuesday, but that was it. And I felt like crap. So on Saturday morning when Gary dragged me to the gym, despite my desires to just sit on the couch and cry into my favourite coffee cup, I felt it. I felt a week's worth of lethargy. I'm still sort of feeling it. But sure enough, after the workout, I felt better.
Yesterday I was still funking a little, so I took some time for myself. I finished my book. I worked on a knitting project. I contemplated going to the mall to shop - shopping ALWAYS makes me feel better, no matter what size I am or what's going wrong in my head - but I knew that if I went to the mall, I'd head straight for the food court and the loving arms of the poutine counter. So I changed my clothes and did 30 minutes of hard, sweaty run/walk intervals in our chintzy apartment gym. And man, what a world of difference. I mean, I'm still a moody bitch - this is unlikely to ever change - and I'm still PMSing and I'm still going to pout because the weekend is over, but I actually felt BETTER. Gary and I played some chess, we watched a movie and ate (ww-friendly) pizza and went to bed early.
It's a new week. I woke up on the right side of the bed, I feel positive and I'm excited again. I'm going to try to remember how much worse I feel when I don't work out my stress and anxiety in a physical way. It's got to come out somehow, and it might as well come out as sweat and not tears, right?