I suffer from a weird kind of perfectionism. It’s not the kind of perfectionism that demands a perfectly clean home, the children cured me of that, or of having to have everything “just so” when having guests over, having a few parties a year cured me of that, it is more complex than that and a lot stupider.
About nine weeks ago I started my morning walks again, this time with my husband. He and both thought that the exercise and fresh air would do me good, and it has. He walks with me on days that he works from home and on days he goes to the city, I walk alone. There is a pretty path that encircles a few soccer fields near my house, and we use that. It was a Monday to Friday thing since he goes to karate on Saturday mornings and I lay about like a slug. About six weeks ago I started walking on the weekends as well and now it’s something I look forward to but I’m also very anxious about. This is the stupid part.
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