Also...

The first couple of weeks of FitWit, I felt like the guy from this old email joke about the Texas Chili Cookoff. Other people would be like, "oh, tough workout," while I was praying for swift death. Totally different universe.

I Am a Purple Robot

So hey, I never blog any more. Turns out robots aren't that into blogging.

I am proud to say, "I am a ROBOT." As an aside, when my niece Rebekah was about 3, my brother was showing her how your voice sounds funny if you speak into a fan, and he said, "I am a robot," and then she tried and said, "I am a purple robot." Because she was into purple. And so am I.

So, I'm not sure what's happening, and I think it's kind of fun. I've somehow transitioned from having all the time in the world to stress about my weight problem and no time to do anything about it, to working on it very hard every day but not having a lot of time to think or write about it. I mentioned before that I joined an exercise club... it's actually a boot camp, I'm told, but it doesn't really seem like what a boot camp should be. It's comprised of some very nice people. Everyone is really, really supportive and only a little frightened by my giganticism. Anyway, it's called FitWit and today starts my 6th week doing it. Four days a week I go to Decatur High school after work and bust my ass for an hour. The first three weeks or so my legs and knees were in utter torturous pain every minute. I'm starting to feel a lot better. I think I'm actually starting to get into it now. It's still utter torturous pain, but I'm starting to appreciate the daily accomplishment. And I like having my days off sanctioned. It makes me feel better about resting, like it's more deserved. I'm kind of loving it. Yesterday I even did yoga on my off day to try and get some deeper stretching in (at Ashram Wellness). My legs have seriously been toast.

What's going on with my body then? So far not that much. I feel a LOT more capable. I feel a lot stronger, and many of the exercises I struggled with so hard in the beginning are fine now. I wasn't paying much attention to food in the beginning, but I've been watching it more lately, especially since I decided to get kind of serious about the food challenge. I would imagine I've lost about 10 pounds or so. I feel like my clothes might be a tiny bit looser. My breasts are a little smaller. Thanks FitWit!

Man....

I ain't even bout to make no damn excuses. Time is the only issue.

I'm still not smoking.

I joined an exercise club.

I rock out regularly. Even today - score! Monthly Cycle debuted at Wonderroot with its highest attendance ever! Woot!

Plus I got measured for body fat in a hydrostatic tank today. Who else can say that? So anyway, it turns out I'm a big fat whale. But the good news is that I have like an extreme incredible amount of muscle under all this shit. So my goal weight is higher than I ever would have imagined! Weird. I'm so fucking ripped.

It's on.

Oh my sweet new lungs

Yep, breathing easy over here. No smoking in many moons now.

And that's about all I can say for myself. I'm in the big, big one-step-forward-two-steps-back world. This weekend was abysmal. Today was abysmal. Between my narcolepsy and my sudden shitstorm at work, I'm ready to give the middle finger to just about everything that breathes. Want some?

She's so...

I watched the premiere of the new A&E show "Heavy" lastnight. What a downer. The chick kept crying during her workouts, and they made it look like that was just utterly insane behavior. I kept yelling things at the TV, particularly, "SHE'S CRYING BECAUSE SHE HATES EXERCISING! IF SHE LIKED IT SHE WOULDN'T BE IN THIS MESS!" Of course, I was mainly talking about myself. If you don't hate exercise, you can't know how awful it is. I guess what I learned from the show is that if you don't have someone there yelling at you, and all the time in the world, and the resources to have a personal trainer 6 days a week at the gym, and you hate exercising like me and Jodi, you're probably screwed. Watching her was pretty scary. We have a lot in common. Particularly the self-talk, I fear. And we both wear clogs. Here is the text exchange between me and my brother (who also has weight issues) during the show.

John: Turn on a and e now!
Me: Oh hell. Bridget is here and we're watching it. My phone went off and I said, "That's someone texting me to watch this show." (Bridget is falling over laughing at this point.)
John: Me and that guy pick the same things off the value menu.
Me: Um that chick just said my life story.
John: She's wearing clogs.
(30 minutes later)
Me: Sorry I haven't texted you back but I've had to do squat thrusts during the commercial breaks.
John: That's ok, I was riding the exercise bike and lifting dumbbells.
John: And purging.
Me: Oh good idea.
(end of the show)
John: God.
Me: I'm so glad they are still fatter than we are.
John: Really.

Anyway, I'm not the kind of person to learn something and then act upon it, but we'll see. I fully understand the risks of being a fatty. Just like I understand the risks of smoking. One day at a time, Sweet Jesus. I did decide, though, that eating raw fruits and vegetables between meals is not to be considered eating between meals. I have such a deficit of that food group that I think the benefits heavily outweigh the costs should such a thing ever occur. I had a mid-morning banana today. Why does that make me feel like such a tool?

I'm doing great with not smoking, cleaning, organizing, staying on top of my money (except I spent too much this weekend, but at least I know that), everything except, of course, this.

Step to it, bitch!

I Need to Watch "Shrek 4" Seven or Eight More Times

Oh really now, it's not all that bad! Get over yourself! Sheesh!

I have these huge, massive plans. RESOURCE ALLOCATION. Big, big problem.

I have a milestone birthday coming up next year in March. I've always wanted to be one of those people who did it up right on milestone birthdays. Alas, not since "Annafest '90" have I really done it up right, and that was just a slumber party with a grandiose name. So I've decided, I'm going to Iceland. I've always wanted to go. I'm going. I have to be in better physical shape, undoubtedly. Also there's a matter of about $2000 I would need to come up with at minimum just to take myself. I'm planning. I want to skulk around (oh give me a break, I have no idea what the right verb is) in the Blue Lagoon. I want to have ridiculous spa treatments performed on me. I want to dogsled and not herniate the poor dogs. I want to see the northern lights but I have no idea if that's the right time of year or not. I want to take jeep tours of glaciers and geysers. I want to go out in what's supposed to be the secret party hotspot of Europe. I'm going to do it. I hope I'll have company, but if not I'll just go.

Another big project that will require an actual investment... I want to landscape the backyard. Don't get me wrong; I love my hippy flower garden back there that is the result of utter neglect. I love the combination of plastic and metal and dog crap and the grill. But it's time for a change. I want a house that looks like it's managed by grown-ups, and I want a garden to match. God, I wish I had skills in carpentry and / or metalworking. Anyway, the plan is to build a zen garden, but not a japanese zen garden. A Georgian zen garden. Instead of cherry trees I want dogwoods, instead of koi I want catfish, instead of bonsai I want giant fucking southern pines, etc. But I am planting bamboo for privacy and because it does really well here. Same concept with the pebble paths and everything, but extending the idea of "being at one with nature" to include things that are - uh - natural. For here. For my red clay world.

Also on the list is the interior redux. We're gradually getting organized, but WHAT an undertaking. It's starting to look like some grown-ups live here somewhere, but what I'm left with doesn't really look very pretty. Sure I'm utilizing vertical space, but at what cost? I'd rather just have less stuff and more room. Ironically, that costs money. And on top of that, I'm literally afraid of the office now. The upstairs office. It used to be my little stinky sanctuary, but then Kevs started shoving things in there. Endlessly. I haven't spent any time in there in probably over 2 years. GROTY. Even Delia doesn't go in there any more, and that's where her litter box is. I once dreamt it would be my little guest room / office / reading nook / play with my one baby area. It has never been clean. I don't know how to get it clean. I'm going up there tomorrow. Wish me luck, I have a feeling it's going to suck like I could never have imagined... Anyway, that whole project already has lots of costs associated with it.

Where am I going to get all the money for all this?

Plus add in the fact that I'm an impulse shopper and then, well, we're doomed. It's a tight budget over here. I did what I promised, I kept my 2011 vow, and Kevs and I did thorough financial planning today, as thorough as we possibly are capable of doing, and we're fine, but man. It's tight.

So much to think about...

Ate too much chocolate, didn't exercise, did clean and write, did not smoke, and did check the bankbook as well as several billion other accounts. Day 15 of this year was better than day 14.

fuuuuuuutuuuuuuuure

One day when I am old and insane I'm going to make an absurd claim that the menstrual cycle is a spiritual portal through time. Sometimes when I am depressed or anxious, and everything seems to be sort of out of control, the things that I say to myself are things like:

"Something is fundamentally wrong and I can't put my finger on it."
"I don't know how to fix my life."
"This is not the life I am supposed to be living."
"How did everything go so wrong?"

The insistence that this is not the life I'm supposed to be living is with me most of the time, somewhere, but it tends to be exposed more often in concert with my menses. Any sane, logical person would note that yes, this time of the month is one of increased hormonal activity, and thus a time of heightened sensitivity, depressed mood, and general irritability. Duly noted.
But tonight, I swear to God, I could see 14-year-old Anna below me. She was screaming something unintelligible and raising her hand up at me in a fist. Perhaps what she was screaming was, "Why?" And in that moment, the excuses, the facade, the decades of acceptance and dishonesty just melted away. Instantly. I know why. I let this happen. I made this happen.

I did not follow my dreams. I did not hold out for the best. I did not demand the best for or of myself. I didn't go for it, and I could have. For so many years now I've been confident that it's not too late, but in all honesty it might be too late now.

The intellectual achievements always came easy. Always. That should have led to so much more, but it has not.

I wanted to be a musician. I gave up without trying. The lie that I might have made it keeping music as a hobby, or inadvertently somehow been "discovered" comforted me for a long time, but I never even went that far. I'm only now rediscovering my love of playing music, and probably only because I'm fairly confident that even if I did try I wouldn't be successful at this point. Someone suggested to me once that I might have a fear of success. I can't wrap my mind around that one. That fact is probably an indicator that there's some truth to it.

I have never really believed that I would have a happy storybook love life. I regret with all my heart that I settled for so little in my marriage. I knew it wasn't the right thing long before we were married. In fact, I actually do deserve a great man. Kevs is a great man. He is perfect for me in many ways. But he's not the one. I will spend the rest of my life with him except in the unlikely event that he passes away before I do. If the only thing I had accomplished in my life was to find true love, I would have considered myself very lucky, and very honored. I could have at least done that for myself. I could have at least tried, and not always succumbed to fear and loneliness. But I do adore Kevs and I'm usually very happy with him. It's a nice consolation.

I would have loved being a writer, too. I've always loved writing. I thought at some point there should be some financial security, but even the career I stumbled into has not turned out to be lucrative for me, really. Except for the very highly skilled and supremely educated people in the world, the working sphere has very little to do with intelligence. It has much more to do with things like appearance. Punctuality. Politics. One's ability to completely suppress one's personality. I'm not good at those things. So my back-up plan eats most of my time and effort, and I can't really find the time to pursue either my first or second passion. Plus I smoked for 20 years, took very poor care of my body, had two children, engaged in all kinds of other hobbies, lived through a miserable marriage, spent every free minute engaged in the pursuit of fun, spent every free dime on stupid things like shoes, and honored every other commitment above any commitment to myself. It could be argued that I throw down the roadblocks before me rather than behind. It certainly seems that way.

The problem with reflection and self-discovery / self-awareness is that it does not prescribe the means or methods for change. I understand so much about what has gone wrong in my life and why things are the way they are. I have no idea how to change. I have no idea what it would take to "turn this ship around" and effect meaningful, significant improvement.

The only thing I have left to try is to be a robot. Fourteen days of this year are gone. This is how years go by, in increments. Very small increments. I have to do better. Every day.

I didn't smoke today. I exercised. I checked and caught up my bank book. I wrote. I did not play the bass. I did not do any cleaning. I ate my weight in chocolate.