I got my butt out of bed for the second time this week today for before work exercise. I have the kit kats to thank to be honest. I turned off my alarm. At the first sign of life, those three amigos were relentless in their attempts to rouse me. Finn shimmied under the covers and bit me in the butt. That finally did it.
It was a warm 55 degrees. I wore pants and sleeves and wished I hadn't. The sun is still all it takes to heat up. I wasn't feeling great, but eventually I got my stride. I cued up a Family Secrets episode and the miles flew as I was completely engaged in Jennifer Senior's story about Bobby Mc Ilvaine, the pervasiveness of grief and the tenuousness of memory. He lost his young life on 9/11. I've been wholly absorbed in 20 year anniversary coverage.
Sunday morning I watched 20/20 while I was at work in the kitchen. Diane Sawyer interviewed the now grown children who were born after their father's died on that day. I was a puddle. Lils came down to find me sobbing. The way she looked at me reminded me of the way 10 month old Teddy looked at me on 9/12 two decades ago. He was unsettled at seeing me so sad. She was too.
For the sake of time, I opted for lemon water this morning and a cold shower. I put on my favorite worn in jeans, much loved flip flops and sassy pink lip stick and felt like a million bucks. This is why I love to start my day sweating. The toxin purge is physical and emotional. They are equally important.
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