I don’t know what’s happening to me. Last night I hung up a dark comforter in front of my bedroom window to block the outside light and went to bed before midnight. Then this morning I woke up at 7:45. For breakfast, I limited myself to two cups of coffee, and not even two big ones. (What? Moderation?) By 9:15, I was WORKING–penning a blog for another business that I write for occasionally. To top it all off, I ate LUNCH–my SECOND meal of the day–at 11:00. (I met a friend, was EARLY, and was one of the FIRST people in the restaurant.) This evening I went for a jog as the sun went down, ate a respectable dinner, then took a shower. Now it’s 10:45, and I’m ready for bed. What the hell?

Is this how normal people live?

For most of this afternoon, I “babysat” a house that belongs to some friends of mine while two manly men from a local business installed carpets in one of the bedrooms. And whereas I spent a good amount of time dicking around on the internet, I also read quite a bit more in Why We Sleep. (I’ve been reading it for three days now. It’s a thick book.) Anyway, the author, Matthew Walker, really has me sold on the idea that you should get eight to nine hours of sleep every night. Apparently anything less (like, six hours a night) is consistently linked to poorer concentration, lower immunity, higher blood pressure, heart problems, cancer, and dementia.

Whenever I decide to make changes regarding my health and routine, a good part of me is terrified. I think, But what about that thing coming up? Is this worth the effort if I can’t do it perfectly? However, at the same time, another part of me is excited. That part thinks, Yeah, I enjoy a good routine. I remember SUNRISES and EXERCISING.

Okay, maybe not sunrises.

While running tonight, I thought about how good it feels to USE my body, to MOVE. Granted, it didn’t feel good ALL OVER–I still have a few aches and pains–but it did feel good to breathe deep and to break a sweat. (I swear I’m not going to become one of those irritating internet fitness people.) I don’t know–for the last year my health has been so unpredictable. For months I didn’t even come close to having the strength or motivation required for moving about or making a plan and sticking to it. (We’ll see how the sticking to it part goes.) But now it feels like I do. Thankfully (so very thankfully), my body appears to be on the mend.

Going back to being terrified, I worry that my health will relapse or that I’ll drop the proverbial ball. You know, like I’ll get bored with all this “health shit” and go back to late nights, beer, and chocolate cake. But I’m doing my best to take this One Day at Time, Sweet Jesus, and not worry so much about next week or even tomorrow. As one of my friends used to tell me, “You can’t eat tomorrow’s meal today.” In other words, think about the meal (or opportunity to exercise or go to bed early) in front of you. Just the one in front of you.

Now, for reasons that should be obvious, I’m going to bed.