After Joe got a new dresser all to himself, I was finally able to take over the big dresser completely. For someone who completely doesn’t give a crap about fashion and usually looks like a cross between asleep and homeless chic, it turns out I have quite a lot of clothes. Going from a walk in closet with built in shelves AND a large dresser to a small closet and half a dresser was definitely a bit of a struggle (but one I most willingly made and wanted to make, and was happy to make, so no, I am not complaining).
But as always, I digress. Long story short, I have quite a bit of clothes. So, after two weeks of Joe moving into a new dresser and me taking over the rest of the dresser, I finally had a free afternoon to organize and move my clothes (from my closet floor, Charlie’s dresser, and the boy’s room).
And I have come to realize…I have a lot of workout clothes. I mean… A LOT (see below for about 2/3).
And in the past few weeks I haven’t worn one piece of them.
Oh, I wore a couple when I faked my way through the run streak for a few days before I was sidelined by the stomach bug.
And the few times I managed to go to the gym that I pay quite a lot for.
But mostly, they just sit there. Looking at me. Judging me. Telling me to get off my ass. And let’s be clear, I want to. But I don’t listen at all.
I don’t know why this was easier when my life was “harder”. When I was beyond lost, and my dad died, and I had nothing else to lose. But it was. And I was able to lose 75 pounds.
Now, I can’t seem to get up the motivation to wake up at five. Or hit the gym after work. Or not eat the damn cookie in the cabinet. And I need to. Because it’s killing me (literally killing me) not to.
But this is a new week. And the running clothes are organized and ready for the morning. And lunches are prepped. And a workout schedule is made.
So maybe this is the week I am able to finally get my shit together.