today at the gym, the music wasn't so bad i couldn't ignore it, the ladies weren't yammering at ungodly levels, but...
so i walk in to get measured. my monthly dose of reality.
i try to get measured on the same day each month because i figure it is more accurate, most accurate, to be measured on the same day monthly, than not.
but i have been measured when i've been bloated up like the goodyear blimp, and that is never encouraging.
so i didn't expect good news, you know, working at *bux, drinking all the crap i can dream up. and the pastries, my god, to die for. (everything is so sweet though, i never thought i'd get tired of sweet, but i am).
so, i decide i'm going to suck my load in while she's measuring, but it doesn't help much. which is probably a good thing, that i walk around with it all sucked in to begin with. plus those 800 situps. i lost count many times today, i have to come up with some other means of counting because when you can't keep track of how many you've done, you're probably doing too many? yes?
anyway,
so i'm stoked because i ditched another four pounds. that's a lot. thirteen all told, but i'm still probably horribly overweight according to those damn growth charts, i think for my height i'm supposed to weight 110 pounds. yeah, right. i weighed that once when i was ten or something.
if i lose another thirty pounds i'll be very happy. i ditched a half inch in my arms, but they still wave like flags and i hate that. (such a gross image, i know). but hey, you don't read me for the nicey nice shit i say (when do i say nice shit?, okay, you got me there), it's the sordid details. the, oh my god, i can't believe she's telling people that (even the people who won't admit that they read it, fucking cowards, i'm on a roll today).
so this chick walks in, i'm mostly done with my workout, all is well, i'm doing good. last time around the circuit, and she gets on a board across the room. there are about half the boards/machines empty at this point. for some reason, three of the women are lined up one after the other behind me a couple stops away. (i hate that, too).
so, she decides to come over--mid count, mind you--and get on the very next machine, the one i am going to get on in about 15 seconds.
so, i go around her, and do the next machine. then come back after she's done. but she doesn't move off the second machine when i come back around so she's still right in front of me.
i mutter some colorful language, and walk across the room
now, i'm having to wait for the line of ladies behind me to pass the machines i needed, and go back. gggrrrr!
the whole time i'm thinking, don't let this get to you. don't be angry.
anger is a dysfunction of the mind.
don't be dysfunctional.
i'm so fucking dysfunctional, it's shocking.
functionally dysfunctional, i say.
but then i thought, maybe because this gets to me, i'm going to keep getting got by it. i need to not let it get to me.
figure some way to release whatever courtesies i expect, whatever decencies i hope for from others and just roll with it.
(which is what i thought i'd done all along, but apparently not).
i still get angry and freak out.
i need to find other ways of dealing with my anger and frustration
because working out isn't helping so much with that i don't think.
not sure what will.
not sure.
dr. carlson would say,
just dismiss the dysfunctional thoughts and go about your day.
the thoughts are not you.
and i agree. i won't fixate on them, i'll just let them go.
rehashing them now only brings them up again, puts me back in the moment
of frustration. so i need to stop reliving my pain as it were.
huge life lesson there.
i'm going to go. i think it's time to be silent for a while.
walking in beauty is hard. i think shaping the body is the easy part.
shaping the soul, the presence, the vibe you're putting out there is the hard part.
so much work to do.
but i am moving forward
and that is encouraging.
ggrrrrr.she said.
don't do that!
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