I meant to post last night all of the boring (read:GLORIOUS) details of Pregnancy Watch: Week 33.
But instead chose to watch back to back episodes of the hottest man on TV, Agent Goren (Vincent D’Onofrio) on Law and Order:CI, while snuggling on the couch with the hottest man this side of the Atlantic.
And it seems nothing has changed since college; in the morning they were both gone.
The weather has been absolutely dreary here as of late and with the clouds and the rain comes the depression and gloom. Or perhaps the depression and gloom are only because we spend most of our weekends trapped in a 5×8 foot room with no windows and 1/2 inch thick plywood for a floor.
In other disappointing news I’ve hit the exercise wall.
(Good feelings all around. Are you feeling the love?)
The Saturday before last, Bubba and I ran 8.5 miles and it took me three days just to recover from the high of mentally pushing my body to do something it has resisted so vehemently. (Note to self: just because the guy who has peacefully slept in every bloody morning while you have tortured yourself for the last 6 months casually woke up one morning and decided it would be “nice” to take a little jaunt ran 8.5 miles JUST LIKE THAT doesn’t necessarily mean you are a total fat ass or that you just plain suck.) (Ok, maybe just a little.)
And then there was the Turbo Jam on the days I wasn’t running.
And the daily food logs.
And at the end of every week, when I checked the scale and NOT ONE STINKING POUND had been lost, I cried to the gods, “why? Why? WHY?” but received no reasonable answer, so, in haste, I invited all of my socially-unaccepted friends back into my life and after about an hour and a half of graveling we were able to be reacquainted and quickly made up for lost time.
And that’s when the problems arise.
I don’t just get off the wagon — I get thrown and, always, always, land face first into steaming cow dung feeling severely dehydrated and charred. This year I have made it a goal to make healthier decisions; to drink more water, to exercise daily, all with an ultimate goal of losing weight or getting in shape (or whichever buzzword you fancy). Most weeks out of the month, I am focused, dedicated to the challenge, but no matter how many before and afters I look at to stay motivated or how many nutritional guides I research there is always this voice in the back of my mind reminding me that I am only trying out the healthy bit just to be rewarded on the weekend with good food and good drinks.
But now that I have been on the non-healthy side of the spectrum for a week, I don’t think of it much of a reward anymore. The booze, the smoke, the grease just aren’t as appealing when you are violently awoken at 5am with a Charlie horse in your left calf because you didn’t drink enough water the day prior.
I imagine there is some middle ground between being a health nut and a drunken glutton but right now I feel as if I am a bit of both and I am learning that the two cannot coexist if I want to achieve my goal. (Quick learn me, I know.) Unfortunately, until I find my balance, and stop seeing the weekend as a reward from eating and exercising well, I will likely continue riding this emotional ride.
Sorry about the lack of posts of late. Honestly, I just have nothing interesting to say. Which sort of implies that before now, I thought I actually had something interesting to say. Which I’m not suggesting that I ever did. Actually, I’m not actually saying anything now and am just posting just to post. Because I am suppose to just write. That is what they say, right? To write. And the words will just come.
. . . ?
I’m internally going through some wild-hair-up-my-backside fit of emotions and definitely feeling a need for change. Some inspiration. A change of scenery. I hate not feeling satisfied with the moment but the moment will always eventually end and I would rather ensure that I can feel satisfied with many more moments like that than the just one. Greedy, sure. But moreover, it’s preparation for the future.
Unfortunately, in my nearly 30 year old — essentially decrepit state, I have become complacent with stability and the daily Starbucks, and rocking the boat seems much more daunting than it was 5 years ago. Perhaps this is just another unconscious attempt at avoiding that bathroom “remodel”.
