I'm a Slug

One of the things I like about getting older--these are few and far between--is that I care a lot less about a lot of things. I still try to change some bad habits, but I accept a lot more.

I accept that I prefer indoors to outdoors. Outdoors has "nature," and nature tends to either bite me or burn me. No more feeling like a guilty wimp. I am an indoor girl.

I accept that I am sedentary--a lifelong sedentary person from a long line of sedentary persons. No more guilt about not swimming laps, running marathons, or working out. If I mow the lawn sometimes and walk around the neighborhood once in a while, that's enough for me.

I accept that I would rather be on the couch with the television on than anywhere else. The best jobs are the jobs that can be accomplished from that position--and I find a surprising number of jobs can be. This one, for instance.

I accept that I am pudgy (as a result of the above). There's a lot to be said for a good foundation garment. I accept that I may not live to be 90. There's nothing left on my bucket list anyway. And I accept that I would rather be at home in Irmo than anywhere else in the world.

I accept that I am a slug. Officially a slug. I'm good with that.