Echoes.

I’m bouncing with the lack of satisfaction in my life at the moment.
Not unhappiness…

Satisfaction.

And caffeine.

I know I’m supposed to put the soda down, but you really wouldn’t like to see me this morning without some caffeine.
And it’s not that I can’t quit, but it’s more a Zoloft-induced “Why the hell should I?”

At least it’s not diet. No aspartame. No wonderful formaldehyde clogging my body.

The filing on my desk is glaring at me, daring me to do something with it. And I will – today, perhaps.
Abbey has a therapy appointment at 2:45 and although I don’t want to go anywhere that requires moving at the moment, I will – I have to give the therapist written permission to talk to the guardian ad litem, whom I have not heard from.

I have a gym session tonight – and a nutritional counseling. It should be fun, considering the fact that I eat junk, have always eaten junk, and even though I combine that with healthy food, I don’t believe the two cancel each other out. I have never eaten on a regular schedule – can’t envision what eating 3 meals a day would be like, much less 6 – who gets hungry that many times in a day?
And the worst part? I simply gag at the taste of fresh crunchy vegetables.
It’s not like crackers – one crunch and that’s about it.
It’s crunch after crunch after crunch.
The mouth version of a chalkboard screech.

Mostly that’s the problem.
Raw carrots I just plain ole detest.

I’m nervous.
Nervous about doing something.
Nervous that I’ll psych myself out of it before I even get started.
Nervous it won’t make a difference.
Nervous that I’ll end up at the point where I think surgery is a good idea again, just because I don’t want to look this way anymore.
I’m nervous that Nick will agree – that he won’t think I’ll have done enough.

And I think I’m nervous because I might be giving up my illusion of control. That I put these bad things in my body as a choice instead of a long-overdue-to-be-broken habit. An addiction. My own addiction… to having been used to being small, to being able to eat whatever I wanted and the superiority that comes along with that.
And being reduced to this failure – this getting older where your body betrays you.
And so I’m nervous because I wonder if I CAN do this.
And if I can’t, what that means about my own personal control.

So you see, over all I’m worried that I don’t have what it takes.

For so many people, this is so easy.
They get up, they go to the gym, and they keep their bodies in shape.
I love working out, so that’s not much of a stretch.

But the eating.
How people can eat right, eat only veggies, eat things without those wonderful embalming preservatives – that amazes me.
Haven’t they ever tasted those?

What happens to make them so self aware that they make the right decisions JUST to make the right decisions?

Nick and I would disagree – but the truth is that we both eat crappily. He simply adds more veggies as snacks into the overall awfulness, but he’s a man full of starches, empty calories, and preservatives as well.

How are we supposed to teach, in the future, what it’s been impossible for us to learn?
For me, for weight, for health.
For him, for health?

Overall I’m blowing this one period in my life out of proportion, but I’m seeing the effect the choices my family and I have made showing up on my child, who isn’t built to be as thin as I was, who has a slower metabolism than I started with.
Every day with this matters.

And I want to do right.

Hopefully having someone hold me accountable will make a difference.
Still I feel this morning as though I’m fighting a losing – and uphill – battle.