March 13, 2105

Good morning!

I guess this blog has turned into my online journal and I’m wholly incapable of writing fiction anymore. Oh well.

Having said that, READ ABOUT MY LIFE OKAY.

It’s Friday the 13th of March, Two Thousand Fifteen, The Year of Our Lord, and I can’t really say I’ve had a bad week, because I really haven’t. I’ve had an unusual week, but unusual in a good way.

Monday was fine, was busy with my local atheist group making plans to help us be a more positive force in our city, which is great. Tuesday is my half day at work and I ended up spending all afternoon helping my crazy father look for stuff in his storage unit, which was a goddamn trip and a half. This is rude, but chemo is totally messing with his brain, but that is another post for another time. Tuesday nights are reserved for Indian food and Trivia Night at a local brewery and may be my favorite night of all even though my team and I are chronic 2nd place finishers. Wednesday, I met with my orthopedic doctor to talk about my knee and to get an injection of supplemental synovial fluid since I apparently have none. That night, I attended a lecture by theoretical physicist Lawrence Krauss and that was fucking surreal. He’s smart. So, so smart. I loved every second of it. Thursday is Dad’s Chemo Day. Typically not a “fun” day for obvious reasons, but it still is weirdly fun. Today, I start physical therapy for my knee and I’m anxious about that. It’s gonna hurt.

So, see? Not a bad week at all. So why am I bitching?

The reason I’m trying to make it seem like a bad week is because I haven’t been to the gym since Sunday and I’ve been extremely lackadaisical in my proper eating habits. I fully admit I am now at the “well, fuck. I’ve been shitty with taking care of myself for four days already, might as well throw in the goddamn towel and go back to how things were.” Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhjdkdbcjdirjjdjsjfifjsn.

I despise this mentality. This is why I’m a yo yo dieter: I’ll be all guns a-blazin’ about eating better and being active, then something happens to get me off my routine and then I just chuck it in the fuck it bucket. Classic E. Classic. I have lost count of how many times I have done this, and not just with eating well/exercise, but with anything.

My writing is another example. I get a fire lit under my flat ass, am determined and headstrong to fucking nail this thing and I work hard and accomplish shit for a while…then something snaps and I revert to my old ways. Forever Disappointing Erin.

I know, stop being so hard on yourself.

No! I won’t! I’m my toughest critic and I’m so goddamn tired of letting apathy set in. Just once, I want to find something and keep the same fire and passion I had for this something at the beginning and have the same fire and passion go to the goddamn end, but nooooooOOOOOOOooooooOOOOOOOooooo. You have to be a twat and give up, don’t you? DON’T YOU?!?

As you can see, I’m a bit upset about this.

I know what you’re going to say: “don’t give up. You fell off, but get back on again.” And you’re right, of course, it’s just that I get so goddamn pissed at myself that I wavered in the first place and then intense hatred and self-loathing set in and aaaaahhhhhdieugjcnzksirigjncnzlalworjfnc.
I have no valid reason for this, though. None. Oh sure, you can give me some leeway and say that Chemo Week fills me with such stress and whatever and I turned to food as a false comfort to me, and you’d be right, but that is a shit excuse…even though I have been telling myself that all week. And sure, you can say to lighten up on the gym thing because you had been going 5-6 days a week prior to this slip-up and you need a break, for crissake. And you’re probably right, but that’s the thing; I had been going 80% of the time and to suddenly not go? I feel like all previous eight weeks of hard work just got dumped down the toilet. And truth be told, I’m scared to go because of my knee. I want to fucking hit it hard and push myself physically to the limits and do all this intense shit, but meanwhile, my knee is telling me to calm the fuck down. That’s the most infuriatingly frustrating thing ever: to be 33 and to have to be careful of what I do physically because of my knee. What am I, 83? No, but my knee is.

I’m not going to give in this time. I can’t. I refuse. Most times my stubbornness is bad for me, but it’s vital this time around. I just have to get over myself and realize yeah, so, you fucked up a few days, but don’t let that keep you from giving up like you have in the past. You fight and you fight like hell.

I’m done now. Thanks for indulging my tantrum there.

And as always, thanks for reading.

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