Easy…

It has become too easy to just crawl out of bed, swipe the deodorant, slip on yoga pants, swirl up a messy bun and call it an effort.

First I got really ill and was out of routine for about 5 months in 2011. Then, it took months for me to gain any semblance of strength back and crawl into a new routine. Just as it seemed like I was {finally} getting my crap together, I injured my back pretty badly and was down again. Here I sit, 6 months later and much worse for wear. Somewhere between the pneumonia and the back injury, depression crept in and wound it’s tiny little tight grip around me. I work at that, and managing daily chronic pain, and life.

And I’m tired. Almost all of the time, I’m tired.

So I’m easy.

Since our move- which stripped what felt like the little bit of strength I had and then wrapped me up in a land where seasonal depression is, well, as common as oxygen- everything is easy.

Easy dinners.

Easy chores.

Easy jobs with easy deadlines.

Easy, easy, easy…

I don’t want to be so easy anymore, but it’s almost as though I don’t know how to do anything else. For well over a year, my hair has turned into a mass of unruly curls that breed frustration. My eyelashes are limp, won’t crimp and don’t wear mascara well. I talk myself out of very nearly everything, during the process, even if I know I’ll likely love it once I’m doing it. The dread overcomes me and I guess, let’s face it, it’s just easier to bow out.

Easier.

The word EASY is not synonymous with anything good. Even Easy Bake Oven cakes taste like Styrofoam.

I don’t want to be easy anymore. I don’t…

So, I’m starting small.

Today, I’m starting here.

I’ve only got one shot at this life of mine and the truth is- it’s not easy being great…