The only problem with exercising at home is knowing that the cats are judging me. It's not quite so bad with Zumba, because they just run away and quite clearly think I've gone insane; with yoga or Pilates though there is a distinct air of smothered giggles as they watch me move into the required poses. Edith usually comes over to have a good look, and has been known to try to snuggle down on the yoga mat itself, but then she'll get annoyed with my feet bumping into her. It's not easy to keep your movements controlled when you have a cat rabbit-kicking your bare foot.
Still I have persevered every evening this week (alternating Zumba with Pilates), and that's a step towards the 66 daily repetitions that are (apparently) the average number it takes to form a habit. The trickiest bit has been timing it with dinner, but that's not insurmountable by any means.
I've also finished reading "The Virgin Suicides", and whilst it's a tough book to enjoy as such I did think it was well written and thought provoking. On now to "The Diving Bell and The Butterfly" an auto-biography by Jean-Dominique Bauby which he wrote after a stroke which left him paralyzed and "locked-in" to his own body. The only way Bauby could communicate was by blinking his left eye, so that was the only was he could indicate each character in the book. I suspect that it's going to be one of those stories to remember whenever I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself, and I already have a strong urge to break the fourth wall, so that I can lend it to the Lisbon sisters.