I've been staring at the blankness of this entry for some time. I know what I want to say; I just lack the desire to type it out. And if, after seeing the length of the post, you lack the desire to read it, I wouldn't blame you at all.
Ennui. It is the epitome of laze that I long for a talk-to-type software program when my fingers are fully capable of moving. Slothlike has become not only a way of being but a state of mind.
I don't really have anything all that interesting to put down, but this isn't for anyone else as I remind myself. You're all just along for the ride, on the sidelines, staring at the train wreck or the occasional touchdown.
There's just a few loose ends rattling around my head I guess. I'll try to organize them into subjects as best I can, so that I can make some semblance of sense and perhaps peace, with myself.
I don't usually outline my writing. I prefer to just freeform it. But to help lend focus I wrote down major topics, then sub-topics. I wrote: Weight Loss & Exercise, Men, Writing, Being a Total Bore. What do you think? I think they're all related. Of course they are. Everything in life is symbiotic; I often try to fool myself into thinking it isn't. And if you think I'm being "too hard on myself," spare me and don't bother reading. Last thing I need is to be coddled.
Weight Loss & Exercise
I'm fat as ever. I've been indulging in my addiction since October. I tried, very hard I might add, to follow Weight Watchers. Got all the books from a lifetime member, got very excited, planned out everything, and yeah, no. Not possible for this carbohydrate addict. The best way I can describe this to you is to paraphrase Mr Craig Ferguson when he wrote about his alcoholism. "If I could have just one drink, I would...." If just one portion of carbs could be enough....
Considering my favorite part of the vast array of Christmas dinner food was the popovers (mashed potatoes coming in a close 2nd), I know the deal. And I am just free-falling to tell myself otherwise. So I am in freefall. When you can close your eyes and actually visualize yourself crawling into a popover and sleeping the winter away, yeah, you know the deal.
I have carbs all over my kitchen. My best friends and my worst enemies. I will work on removing them between now and January 1. Here we go again. Everyone falls off their respective vice wagons; but we can just get back on if we want to. If we look back over the last 3 years of this blog (trust me, I did so you don't have to), we will see that I had the most success lo-carbing + no exercising. Even if that's just a temporary kickstart, I'll take the value for what it is worth.
I have thought maybe I didn't want to get back on the wagon again, but then yeah...the potential of never dating again was too painful to imagine.
Enter a real problem. Not just a mental problem, but a logistical physical problem. I had to put my gym membership on hold (I have a year to go back without new sign-up fees). It increased to almost $50/month to basically use a treadmill. Because I've had to add the monthly expense of hiring a pet sitter, at $15/visit or approximately $144 w/ discount per month, I've had to adjust some expenses. However, the care for the dogs is not only vital to my sanity (no longer feel anxiety on the drive home which is good), it is becoming necessary for their health as well, particularly the rescue girl.
I've long since given up on the BowFlex as too many moving parts and dog hair sure to clog it almost immediately, but I secretly lusted after the NordicTrack Incline Climber despite it being touted by the dreaded Jillan Michaels. I even thought I could afford their payment plan option. Oh yes, except, I tried and I don't meet their requirements for approval. So they can suck it. The answer isn't some expensive piece of equipment anyway.
Searching for used equipment, and considering busting out the old NordicTrack skier as a "better than nothing" option. And before anyone leaves a comment that says "Just walk briskly around the lake with the dogs," please....I have a heart monitor people, I know the deal. I know the range my heart rate needs to get into (pretty high) and I cannot walk (and I'm unable to run) at that pace with or without the dogs, on my own, around the lake. I need a machine to help me otherwise it is just wasted effort. And wasted effort soon becomes a give-up situation for me.
I have the names of 2 hypnotherapists. I just need to learn rates and make a decision. I'm not sure I can afford either, but because one is seeking additional income due to cutbacks on their other job, I'm crossing my fingers I can afford her and she can help me turn off the carb cravings. Don't worry, I know the work is mine to do, but I also know that the subconscious mind holds the freaking key for me. There are really wrong programs playing in my head, and I need help to turn them off.
Oh, my favorite subject I love to hate. Much of what I write is with sadness, but without surprise. Reality is one tough bitch.
The Sorry Sad Loser (Formerly Last Love of My Life)
We can all breathe a collective sigh of relief (and a few rolling of the eyes I'm sure), when I write that I'm 99.9% certain, as certain as anyone can ever be about the uncertainty of another person's actions, that I will never get a text message, email, phone call, or unexpected visit from L again. I took care of it without having to block his number or change my number. I took care of it, not unlike the way a Jersey Girl would take care of it and not unlike the way Tony Soprano would take care of it. Enough said. (Yes, he's still alive with both kneecaps, but I will forever imagine that I have his virtual balls in a lockbox I never intend to open.)
eHarmless & OKStupid
The communication requests and first messages from these sites have been off the charts in the last half of December. So much so that it has become rather time-consuming to sort through it. I am certain this is holiday-effect, in which guys suddenly feel like they don't want to spend another year alone so they better get on the dating track the way some people begin to exercise come January 1. Hey, their loneliness might be my opportunity; I'll take it.
I'm approaching these interested guys from the "non-physical attraction" angle. I can't say that any of their photos get me all giddy with delight. And I'm thinking that's a good thing. I like what they have to say about their lives instead. Because let's face it, my photo might rock but my stomach resembles a bunch of rocks. So perhaps it is time to dial down the expectations on what a match for me might look like. It isn't settling; it is dealing with that bitch of reality. Rocketing to the top priority is whether or not he minds that I have weight to lose.
I'm communicating with guys from all over the country, which is interesting. Learning a bit about Alaska, northern Westchester NY county, Cedar Rapids Iowa, as well as closer to home Woodbridge NJ and my old college haunt the Happy Valley of western MA.
I do disclose the fat, as the saying goes, but for some reason the guys always write back "You look great to me," or "I'm sure it isn't as big of a deal as you're making it." Sigh. Yet, as I exchange communication with these guys, I suspect that if they met me, that would be the end of it. This isn't a confidence issue; this is a reality check. I FEEL beautiful, until I look at myself in a full-length mirror or my sister hands me a photo of myself from the October wedding. Reality is a bitch.
I look good on paper, I pass favorably in photos I take of myself to make sure the angle is good, and even a bit of my smiling webcam face is winning for some guys, but when a guy asks me if I'd like to go skiing or rock climbing, my heart and mind say YES, but I look down at myself and reality is that bitch again, putting it into perspective, "He has no idea what you're really like." He has no idea I'm capable of carrying not one marsupial but two in my pouch.
Mr Vegas and I had it out via email after he commented on a birthday photo in which I was wearing my "Kiss Me I'm the Birthday Girl" shirt: "I would have kissed you!" Excuse me? Go get yourself a life buddy, you missed the boat, the boat dock, and the entire travel itinerary. Upon several emails back and forth and GREAT disbelief on his part that he had missed my "signals" in Vegas (I had to spell them out including the towel, the asking, the I'm tired comment etc), HE concluded that, yes, he was "clueless with women." Um obvs. Ridic obvs. Grow up.
The Married Italian
Molto Bello Italia and I have settled into that zone where after communicating nonstop for two months you no longer have anything new to say and to repeat the same old daily things seems dull and well, redundant. There are no more good mornings and goodnights, no more what are you doing, what are you eating for lunch, what will you watch on tv tonight. Questions I ask go unanswered and he is clearly (and rightly so) focused on more important things. This is not just a holiday break, this is a change in the friendship since Vegas, mostly on his part, but the less he messaged me, the more I could understand the logic of it, if not the emotions.
It isn't the first time I've been some guy's distraction from his dull or boring life (there was this time in Arizona once....). And it isn't the first time that initial fascination with me wanes and turns into that averageness of every other person he knows and I cease to be unique. Every person comes into our life for a time, a season, or a lifetime. Or something like that.
Basically, I'm not surprised. I hope this means his family life is warmer, closer, or whatever. I'll always hold him in high regard as a dear friend and for that brief time a fantastic muse inspiring me to write new poetry; but there's just no way to carry on that high level of attention when it isn't being returned. Some flames burn forever and some burn brightly for a short time.
Sing it, Bruce: "What can I do, what can I say? Oh darlin, I don't want to fade away..."
My New Year's Eve Plan B
I've been asked by Mr Harry Pottypants to "hang out" with him at his newly purchased condo on New Year's Eve. Might be marginally better than spending it alone, although I've spent enough NYEs alone to know that there's no real adverse effect on me. We'll see. I stipulated that hanging out would not be "getting drunk and having sex," but more likely "video games and a chick flick of my choice" to which he readily agreed (sucka). In his invitation, he wrote, "You've been one of the more significant people in my life this year so it seems fitting to hang out if we've both got nothing else to do." Way to sell it. At his young age (32, I think), he really should have other options. He claims there's a friend's party but it is too far for his taste to drive.
I took a break, and now I don't want to go back to it. And I feel like if I continue to be distracted by twitter and this blog (and blog reading of others), then the writing will stay firmly on hiatus. What to do, what to do, what to do.
Being a Total Bore
Rather sick of myself in general.
Went to see Up in the Air, and I thought I was watching a "Reasons to Kill Yourself" Infomercial brought to you by Hertz, American Airlines, and Chrysler. Clooney, what were you thinking? And the awards being thrown at this movie need some explanation. Or I need a kick in my grumpy pants. Perhaps one's view on life at the time slants a movie, ya think?
Not at all surprised that even the Princess of Sweden and I have had nothing to talk about for a while now. I think I'm all talked out.
The more time that passes, the more things stay the same.
Losing Weight; Finding Men
"Never make someone a priority in your life when you are just their option."