“The rest of my life: week one” is not going precisely as planned. I had the week all worked out. Pilates lessons. A pedicure. Cocktails with a recently resurfaced colleague. Getting my car repaired. Starting my book. And what was to be the pinnacle event – a long awaited Glen Hansard concert.

And then my body slapped me upside my head, reminding me why I needed some time off. It’s not just about writing and adventure and fun. My health’s been in the toilet for the last year. If I’m being honest, really for the last 3-5 years. It can’t keep up with my expectations.

I should have heard the warning signs this weekend. I had three nights of fun planned, and only made it to two. So I should not have been surprised when, after pilates class and a visit to the smelliest auto-body shop I’ve ever experienced, my body rebelled. “Enough” it said. “I can only take so much. You promised me rest and relaxation, and this is what I get? Don’t you care about me at all?” Who knew my body sounded so much like a Jewish mother?

So I had to pass on the cocktails. And the concert. And the second pilates class. Which was all sad. But with some rest, by today I felt good enough to find a better auto body shop. And get a pedicure. And start making use of the office supplies I bought to outline characters and build a timeline for my book.

So I’m back on track, though now it’s a slower track. The thing I need to work hardest at, at least at first, is moderation. Yay.