There is Mundane. And There is Running.

I was in California much of last week for work and so I spent this weekend unearthing the house from my absence. Saturday was mostly laundry. Load after load of it. Sunday was a grueling few hours of opening piled up mail, bill paying, health insurance claiming, and various other paper-based forms of torture. All of this was interspersed with feeding, cleaning up the kitchen, and the periodic entertaining of my children. My daughter's pleasure was sewing and needlepoint and I was frequently asked to thread a needle or tie a knot. With my son these days my primary role is making sure he does something other than play Minecraft. 

I always feel better when long-delayed tasks are no longer hanging over me. But in the moment I feel: 1) annoyance that my life is submerged in the mundane; 2) anger at myself for not doing it sooner; and 3) a nagging desire to stop mid-stream and find something fun and/or meaningful to do.

With the cold and the darkening Sunday sky it took a lot of my own willpower and urging from my husband to pull on my running shoes and head out the door. The thought of a run felt simultaneously hugely unpleasant and like a gift that my procrastinating self did not deserve. I had run 7.5 miles on Saturday with an errand to get my daughter's sewing supplies built into the last two miles of it. Sunday's reluctant 2.5 miles was just enough to shake loose my house-tired body and free my spirit.

Heading into Monday lighter.