lazy Thursday evening

I wonder sometimes if there’s an alter-ego of me out there doing all the things I should be doing, those things a/my projected Self accomplishes as I look on, cheering her on, feeling a slight sense of guilt. I settle on my sofa one hour before my bedtime under a cozy blanket. I think of the time I will pass reading, and I look to my watch to be sure of the time. It is the time I had planned to be drying myself off after my swim. The bus will pass in fifteen minutes and I must hurry if I want to save myself the 30-minute walk coldward to my little humble home. I hide my hair under my tuque to be sure not to catch cold. My eyes are red. My mascara running (should’ve washed that off before coming!). My brown two-piece is damp and rolled up in my beige towel. I might be blowing my hair just a bit more before exiting the women’s room, corn-colored strands flying up and about by the propelled heat of a bathroom hand-drier, it’s spout turned sideways toward my head. This projected Me feels good after her swim. “I should do this more often.” Her and I, sunk in my sofa, create a mental work-out schedule: Monday off, Tuesday spin, Wednesday run, Thursday swim, Friday yoga, Saturday swim and run (why not, it’s the week-end!), Sunday run, and muscle training any second day. A bit of myself at the back of my head tells me that this would leave me no time for early suppers, or after-work teas with my friends, or lessons, or writing, or reading. Indeed, everything gets into everything else’s way. Sometimes I feel that becoming an adult means settling for not being able to do everything, and learning to set priorities. Maybe it is these decisions that split one into a person and one’s alter-ego, which many seem to classify as their past: Young-Me versus Adult-Me.

I do wish to avoid that dichotomy.