Real-life math

Or should I say "maths" like they do in Australia? Maths is pretty much the worst Aussie word I have come across, I think. And that's a rich category which includes "Facey", "relos", "brekkie", and "footie". I don't have a lisp but I sure sound like I do when I try to say maths. Which I don't. Those poor Aussie kids. When I protest to Australians about this, they point out that it is actually pronounced "mats", which is so absurd that I have no comeback.

Anyway.

I have to tell you that I am in a new relationship. Now, now, don't go feeling sorry for P, I haven't dumped him. This new relationship is somewhat odd, I have to say. I carry him around on my wrist in a bracelet that I like to think of as tech-chic, but is probably just dorky. In return, he judges me on a wide variety of factors that I invariably don't live up to, beaming the data he is secretly collecting on me to my computer and iPad, where it is reported out for me at his whim. He's like my own personal cyber-bully. He reports that I don't walk far enough or fast enough or burn enough calories. Here's a photo. Doesn't he look evil with those little glowing dots?

We are currently in the midst of a spat. I think I should get credit for the 60 "very active minutes" I spend in hell barre class every week and he does not. He only likes fast walking or running. And merely swinging your arm wildly while watching TV doesn't cut it. Not that I would do that.

Let me tell you, this barre class is 50 times harder than walking. It's 105 degrees in there, for one, (not 'like 105', actually 105) and you never get to put your arms down. Ever. While holding two 1kg weights and doing a million plies. You try that for an hour, Mr. Fitbit. But I can walk briskly to 7-11 for a fountain Coke and chocolate-chip cookie and consume them while I briskly walk back home and he happily doles out a smiley face for achieving 30 "very active minutes."

I know, he's only trying to help. He just wants me to be a better person. Don't we all? But it's exhausting trying to please him. I have enough to do without him.

Let's take a look at my weekly goals, shall we?

1. Work out 3x per week
2. Write 7 pages (500 words per day) of my novel
3. Blog once per week

Now, these are only things I would *like* to do. The list of things I *have* to do every week looks something like this:

1. Get children to and from school
   - 1a. On time
   - 1b. In clean clothes
   - 1c. With somewhat nutritious lunches
   - 1d. With completed homework

2. Work
   - 2a. Enough not to get fired
   - 2b. Maybe a little more so I can get the raise I've requested

3. Feed children
   - 3a. Regularly
   - 3b. Something that does not come out of a can or box

4. Shower
   - 4a. Once in a while

Notice I did not include cleaning the house, talking to P, sleeping, or socializing, as those have all been relegated to the "nice if it happens, but let's be honest it usually doesn't often enough" category.

Most weeks, only one or two things in goals category even have a chance. (Sorry blog readers.) I do work out, because otherwise I feel horrible, but since crossfit makes me twice as sore as yoga, I calculate that one crossfit class is worth two other classes. So crossfit and barre? Workouts done!

I write, too, which is better than what I did before, which is not write. But 500 words a day is a lot of words when you're used to writing none. So really, I calculate that any writing counts.

Blogging? Well, you know how that usually goes.

I read a cheesy quote today that said "You can wish for it or you can make it happen." It may sound ridiculous, but I have only recently really understood that concept. I spend a LOT of time wishing for more money, wishing I was a writer instead of working where I do, wishing my jeans fit a little better, wishing I wasn't so tired all the time. Only in the past few months has it occurred to me to do something about any of this. Of course, I'm trying to fix everything all at once, which as you can see, doesn't always add up.