Baby Steps. Maybe.

I am bone tired, too weary to even get up and put the melting vanilla ice cream sitting next to me on the counter back in the freezer. (It was called forth to accompany the last slice of fresh blueberry pie I made on Sunday.)

My head feels stuffed with a mixture of lead and cotton, and my nose is rubbed raw. How can one day of a cold – a September cold, no less – do this much damage?

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Can I stream of conscious tonight? Because it’s all I have energy for.

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I love reading other people’s blogs. But I’ve slowly discovered that reading other writer’s witty or thoughtful or meaningful thoughts silence my own. I read blogs for fun. But I lose my words in the process.

I don’t know what to do about that.

Maybe I need to limit my time online and spend more time writing?

Maybe.

But what do I do when I run into nights like tonight, when I’m too tired to put away the melting ice cream, much less compose a coherent sentence?

Do I just go to bed and pray God’s rest reinvigorates me tomorrow? Does the reading itself amuse me to dull silence?

Maybe.

I struggle with self-discipline. I long for the control to obey my soul and not my body.

Maybe I should get up and put away the ice cream and turn off the computer and take a book and a blanket to bed and attempt to clear at least one nostril so I can breathe while I sleep.

My body says no. Sit.

My soul says yes. Move.

My soul will win this one.

Baby steps.