Back to square one. It's been another 11 days since I last posted. It's not that I don't think about posting or write little random bloggish snippets in my head whenever something amuses, angers, frightens, or excites me, but getting the words out of my head on a consistent basis continues to be a struggle.
As does eating healthy. And exercising. Forever and ever I've only been able to manage, at most, three things effectively at any given time. At present this is my two jobs and my household. Blogging and self care are steadily losing ground.
I'm nearly at the point where I need to give my belly a name, a constant faithful companion is she. She has a newly discovered love of pop. For those of you not from Saskatchewan or North Dakota, that's 'soda'. I never used to like pop. I could take it or leave it UNLESS it was mixed with my other best gal pal, Vodka. Or, when I was dieting, I consumed copious amounts of diet pop in an effort to stop consuming copious amounts of cookies. It worked, sometimes.
Now though, I prefer to have regular, fully sugared pop in addition to any number of other poor choices. I get winded from going up the stairs. My knee hurts.
I'm not Biggest Loser material yet but at 34, I feel like I really shouldn't have any physical ailments.
So do something about it, right?
Some of the problem lies in the fact I am never truly motivated to lose weight unless I am 100% belittling and demeaning myself and my gluttonous ways and have a full hate on for my body. That's not really fun but usually keeps me going.
Another problem is I am considerably more laid back than I was back when I was an employee of Hell. When I was there, I was miserable all of the time and so it was pretty easy to also hate my body and enjoy the punishment of a spin class. For those 55 minutes or so I didn't have to think about how much I hated my job, how underappreciated I and my co-workers were, how messed up the whole system is. I just had to focus on the burning pain in my legs, trying not to fall off of my bike and breathing.
At present, when I think about a spin class and think about how uncomfortable it was and how my legs burned? I think that I truly must belong on my couch watching Big Brother. Then when I can't read a bedtime story to my children without the aid of an oxygen tank, because I had to go upstairs first, I think it may just be worth it.
Stay tuned. Find out whether I succumb to the evils of exercise or the more comfortable, but equally evil life of a sedentary woman who eventually will be unable to shave her own legs without assistance thanks to growing girth and complete loss of core strength thereby necessitating bathing in my own filth while my husband shaves them for me. Sexy, no?