The Comfort Zone

BrocanteHome is the cause of my sciatica. Or rather the fact that I absolutely downright bloody ludicrously chose to make the red armchair in my living room my home office is the cause of my sciatica.

I'm all about comfort me. It's a terrible affliction, because it means you do yourself all manner of both emotional and physical damage while convincing yourself you DESERVE to be comfortable, which is in fact a load of old baloney, because once we consider ourselves DESERVING of anything we need a good old slap around the chops.

The temptations of comfort harass us in all corners of our life: we fall into an ok relationship and flail within it's cosy clutch for the rest of our lives (because a relationship that challenged us might just reveal the ugly truth about who we really are, because a comfortable relationship is better than no relationship at all, because one merely needs a partner to take out the bins, etc, etc.), we choose flesh coloured boulder holder bras and knickers so big you could pack ten pounds of potatoes in them (because anything prettier, tighter, or erm, sexier, might just make us aware of that extra stone of weight comfortably cushioning our hips), we cook the same slightly dubious meal week after week, (because a minor level of culinary satisfaction is guaranteed and life is too short to stuff an organic mushroom), and we indulge our kids with lazy parenting because we just can't be botherered with dealing with the screaming ab-dabs...

Laziness you see is Comforts best friend.

They are evil twins, egging each other on and condemming us to a life in Hush Puppies. And they want us to be in their gang. They want us to choose a cosy night in front of the television instead of an hour rubbing down the bathroom cabinet for the kind of makeover that would make our hearts sing thereafter. They want us to indulge in a carbohydrate fuelled white food day resplendant in pasta and potatoes because we feel a bit miserable and (shamefully) seek sustenance in the kind of food that makes us feel like Ten Ton Tessie half an hour after it has been swallowed. They want us to choose ugly (but comfortable) shoes that make us feel like somebody's Grandma, to live in elasticated trousers and turn down every invitation we get because we are all too willing to let shyness get the better of us, avoid social discomfort and hide within our own four walls for ever more.

Where LAZINESS is the evil, grimacing Joker of the Pack, COMFORT is a Jessica Rabbit like seductress, trailing her pretty fingers around our battered ego and whispering, Come now, don't you deserve a little comfort? And you are tired, too tired to argue really and so you nod and then you are in her clutches and she is dragging you across a feather topped mattress to her partner in crime and life as we know it becomes a great big bucket of the Can't Be Bothereds!

Do you hear what I am saying?? You know you really don't DESERVE to be comfortable all day every day: there is a time and a place for it. What you truly deserve is the time and energy to create the life you always wanted. The kind of life that takes commitment and planning and effort and won't let you shuffle through life, 24/7 in trainers and big knickers. The kind of life that gives short shrift to LAZINESS and COMFORT and becomes best mates with DISCIPLINE and PURPOSE...

And then and only then will you be entitled to the bliss of wallowing in the marshmallow sensation that is satisfaction. Now get to it M'Lady!

On My Wishlist...