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When your mind is forced to wander

I woke up this morning with a sore throat and the back of my neck is killing me. I can't turn my head to the right for some reason. I’m sure it's meningitis or a brain tumor or something equally dramatic.

I probably just slept wrong.

Here’s something you probably don’t think much about: forced meditation.

When I left for my three-mile walk yesterday at noon, my husband said he would be leaving within half an hour to go for his six-miler. He drives to his location; I take a left at the end of the driveway.

It occurred to me, about a quarter mile down the road, that he might lock the house when he left. I said to myself, “Surely he’ll realize I don’t have my keys when he checks to see if they’re where I always toss them.”

Yeah, right. I should have turned around – retracing a quarter mile takes less time than, oh, sitting on the porch for an hour and a half waiting for him to come home.

I thought about going for another walk, but I was thirsty and tired and, okay, lazy. I picked up some fallen tree branches and piled them up in the pine grove. I gathered up a very large pile of pine straw that’s been littering the driveway for two months and toted it (in the wheelbarrow) to the woods.

And I … sat on the porch. Thinking murderous thoughts. Wondering how he could be so thoughtless. And, finally, realizing that 90 minutes not playing computer solitaire was probably a Good Thing.

Day Six of South Beach is done, done, done. I can’t quite believe I have just eight days to go until I can have brown rice. (See? I didn’t even say dark chocolate – what a wonderful plan this is when your chocolate cravings can be transformed into brown-rice cravings!)

I can absolutely report a marked increase in my energy level, especially the past three days. When I see something that needs to be done, I do it. (Tree limbs, pine straw, anyone?) For instance, the office carpet needed vacuuming, but it wasn’t awful. However, it was littered enough that it bothered me so I swept it. Right then and there. I’ve also cleaned the house, cleaned the garage and kept up with the laundry. Including washing some fabric to make curtains for the office windows.

Manic? Who, me? Maybe a little. Now I understand why there’s a section in the book addressing the question, “Why can’t I stay on Phase One?”

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