P.S. Beforehand: I know it’s afternoon … once I’d roughed out the following entry, I followed my own advice. I finished some cleaning/furniture moving projects here at home and went to the gym for two hours, after which, I felt — predictably — far better. I think that if I did not spend so much time at the gym, I would need to be medicated (one way or another). EVEN BIGGER NEWS – for the FIRST time in I have no idea how long, I wore a color other than black/white/blue — I wore YELLOW. Yep, I’m lightening up — read on for this morning’s thoughts. And thanks for sharing the journey.
Like I said … I need to laugh more. There has been in my life a surfeit of crapulosity of late, my tendency to overindulge in gulping my own evil-dictator-false-prophet KoolAid of woe-is-me-the-sky-is-falling was taking over my life to a dangerous degree. I think that’s why I got sick, maybe, although Cody thinks the guy I was bantering with at the bar the night before the illness struck slipped something in my drink. I don’t think so. In any event, whatever the whyever and however of that illness, it shook me. And I shall now ACTIVELY lighten up. And why not? Despite the tragedy of Tuesday (and that is ALL I am saying) this was a GREAT WEEK — I mean, we did have Matt Bomer in his underwear this week thanks to Mr. Ryan Murphy.
So, there is reason to rejoice.
Some solid steps to further rejoicing: Return to healthy eating and daily exercise. Since the onset of my mystery illness a few weeks ago — coincident with giving up alcohol — I have been mostly good about what I’ve eaten but far less steady about gym attendance. Having been too sick and weak to gym during the worst of my apparently-without-cause-dysentery, I fell into slothful complacency and I’ve had trouble returning to my workout schedule. It isn’t, mind you, that I think healthy eating and exercise will sculpt me into fantasy-fellow, but, rather, I know that too many carbs, too much sugar, and too little exercise contribute to unpleasant emotional roiling. I need endorphins and function much better without sugar gumming up my insides. Funny, I don’t miss the wine, but I do STILL, over a year and a half later, miss smoking.
But, I’m not starting again. Although, true confession: during all the mystery illness lab-testing, what got me through (and what got me to agree) was my thought, “Well, bright side, if this is terminal, I can IMMEDIATELY start smoking again.” Yep, that’s the FIRST place my head went.
Funny, my initial love of smoking had more to do with black and white Hollywood imagery:
But now, it has more to do with … well:
That one is called “Wasted Youth” and it’s by Gregory Harris. Speaking of wasted youth; remember those days when televisions were two feet thick and weighed a kajillion, cumbersome pounds and I could carry them down flights of stairs all by myself? Well, those days are gone. I managed it this morning but doing so seems to have undone all the good of the fabulous massage I had yesterday. It was a gift, that massage, and boy did I enjoy it.
Speaking (again) of wasted youth, I am now of an age where when I say “I want a massage” I actually mean I want a massage; deep muscle tissue, knot-removing, ache-assuaging massage. That is all the “happy ending” I need.
Speaking of aging, Frank Bruni wrote a nice piece recently in the New York Times. Read it here: Frank Bruni, Op-Ed, Gray Hair and Silver Linings [click it]
Must dash. Things to do. Joy to find. Love and Light, my dears. Love and Light.