Two days until the big move.
I am reminded of our late dog, Rusty. He used to love to cuddle up with me on the couch, and when Ed asked me to get up to do something (find the remote, answer the phone, turn down the pot on the stove, etc.,), he would look over, see Rusty, and say, "Oh, never mind. I see you have your excuse in your lap." Then he would get up and do it himself.
I have been gifted with excuses. The reason I wasn't exercising or eating healthfully or quilting or reading or playing harp is that I had a house for sale. Really - the whole scenario of constantly cleaning up for showings put a cramp in otherwise important tasks - not to mention that we were so anxious over whether or when the house would sell, which left little time for the peace of mind required to be productive and organized. I was in a full-fledged limbo and therefore frozen in time. The house was my excuse, and it was squarely in my lap.
After the house left my lap, of course, our tenure at Rachel's house climbed in. How can I exercise with an added 2 hours of driving to work every day? How can I eat right when Chris considers sugar one of the main food groups? How can I quilt or study for the CMT exam when all those tools are packed up? The answer has been, of course, no way. I sit restlessly (but guilt-free) on the couch with my excuses in my lap.
We move on Thursday, though, and that means I have to stand up and all my excuses will fall to the floor. It will be time for action and - gasp! - accountability.
We'll be a-movin' and a-shakin' - and maybe it's rather symbolic that we don't own a couch anymore.