Sunday Scribblings offers this prompt. Make of it what you will: "Do I have to?"
Four. words. They. turn. me. into. a. whiner.
Only recently has guilt turned into a goad that makes watching a bad movie turn into a six-hour ordeal. No longer can I get it over with in ninety minutes. Nosirreee, I have to pause every few minutes to move into 'save my arse' mode.
A six-week hospitalization for pneumonia morphed into coming home with a snake oil salesman's bag of pills and illegible prescriptions, a list of instructions longer than a chimpanzee arm and commands that whisper warnings in my head, 'Don't sit down - it's treadmill time. Don't sit down - it's yoga time. Don't sit down...'
Mind you, I've never been much of a sitter but only recently has this voice emerged to guilt me into moving constantly.
As much as I dislike medications, I'll have to admit that the newest discovery of a pill to replace exercise rose almost as high on my bucket list as the 'if you don't feel like cooking, take the green pill'.
Hurry, researchers. I'm counting on you to convert this pushy voice into the soothing sound of, 'Of course, you don't have to. Sit down and read.'