It’s a my-time-of-the-month movie night tonight. Legally Blonde is playing, followed by Miss Congeniality.
I so suck, I know. Normally, I’m a fan of those crazy things called Subtitles. I like artsy flicks and intellect and drama and suspense and sexiness (hence subtitles: bring on the Latin flicks). But when I’m feeling sorry for myself, I like the stupid shit.*
I screwed up my back again! JESUS CHRIST. What, is this the reality check of “Miss, you’re 32 years old now, you can’t DO that shit anymore”? Because, I tell you, I’m getting pretty choked.
You know what it is? When I’m exercising regularly, I’m fine. Right now, though, I’m trying to get back into exercising after having real life intrude with my willpower/etc. Ever since my bro’s accident, everything kind of just stopped. Workaholic, sick, obligations, all that stupid crap began to interfere, and I was WEAK. I was UNDISCIPLINED.
And I am PAYING for it now.
I’m lucky I’m normally able to feel as well as I am, when I keep active & exercise a lot. In the last decade of my life I have:
- Been thrown from a horse.
- Been in accidents where two cars were totaled (both other drivers running red lights and t-boning me.)
- Been rear-ended twice.
- Been in a scooter (ie: Vespa-type) accident where I was thrown off and landed on my back in an intersection.
- Been in two wipe-outs on the scoot.
In short, I’m a fucking catastrophe on legs. I’ve had bad luck in the past, and though that’s all behind me now and life is good, I need to be more vigilant with being regular on the exercise thing. I get really passionate and dedicated, but whenever life turns up the heat, it’s the first thing I drop when I start losing my grip on things, and it takes a long time to get it back. If there’s anything I hope to change about myself, that’s it. I enjoy being active, I push myself fairly hard when I get into it, but this copping out and rough-ride-back bullshit is making me a little too cognizant of being over 30 and what the consequences of neglect-meets-age might be.
But isn’t that the way it always is? We forget how good “normal” can be, we let things lapse, they fall apart quicker than we’d have fathomed, and getting it back to par is a hell of a chore. And sometimes, you can’t help but start thinking it’s unthinkable, or even, “is it worth this?”
And this is what I’ve done, I neglected myself. I started living a lifestyle I hate – one commanded by work and money, not time and passion. And I forgot the little things I need to do to keep myself in the zone of Steff that I love the best, the one where I feel good, up, happy, and like a player. I love the vibe I have when things are good – so why do I stop?
Once I get to this point, I smarten the hell up for a good long time. Invariably, once every year or so, though, this happens.
It brings on another realization, though. The difference between blaming others, and blaming yourself. You’ll notice, I’m not blaming life – I’m blaming my own inability to better manage my time. I know the fault lies on me, and that’s the thing I need to know, because then I know I can change. That’s the beauty of accepting responsibility for shit: You know you’re not a victim, you know you’re in power, you know you can be an agent of change.
So, here I sit, bitter and angry at this world of discomfort I’m in, but I know it’s my fault, and this time is the last time for a while. I am now a stretching fiend. Limber is my name. Heh. Right?
My den of slack and agent of change (aka: living room and remote of control) are beckoning me back to the realm of sloth. I hear my calling, and I choose to accept the task before me. Later, I will go for the loser-slouchy-sore-back-girl walk around the block where I feel like an alien creature has infiltrated my spine, causing me to walk as if I’m auditioning for George Romeros.
How I dream of muscle relaxers. Anybody? Anybody?
*You thought I had something bright to say? Something new, exciting? No, no. It’s just whining.