For very technical reasons (and with extensive apologies from our technocrats), we are reposting!
I know should. I know I should go up there, to that room, to that corner. I simply don’t want to.
It’s not just any room in the house. No, this is a special room. It’s really quite lovely. The sun comes in and warms it. The cats love it. There’s a comfy sofa and lots of books.
It has historical significance as it’s the room from which the family creatively made and hung a Red Cross sign out the windows in 1863, thus saving this old house from being burned down along with so much of Bluffton.
So why do I resist going there?
Two words: Stationary Bicycle.
It sits there and glares at me from its space in the corner. I have to walk around it to get to the other rooms. We both know I should be using it. It’s too big to put in a closet; too heavy for me to haul downstairs and quietly dispose of.
Do not tell me that if I turn on the television while I’m pedaling that time will fly by and I will develop muscles I never knew I had. Tried that.
Do not tell me to get a good book, pedal away and time will fly by, etc. etc. Done that, too.
Do not tell me that I should just grin and bear it. That it’s good for me. That I’ll feel so much better when I’ve finished. I don’t need to hear that. I feel sufficiently guilty as it is.
But didn’t I say that the room has a comfy sofa, books and cats?
I think I’ll go up there after all and enjoy those things. That silly bicycle has spent most of its life un-attended, un-sat-upon and un-pedaled. What’s one more day?
Devil machine image thanks to thenounproject.com