155: day eight - ten
november 26 - 28
pep talk of the day
hold your own hands once in awhile.
pep talk of the day
hold your own hands once in awhile.
On November 27th, I called my doctor to cancel an appointment for the 28th. Ironically, I wasn’t feeling well, prompting the cancellation
“Lindsay, you haven’t seen us for a long time now?” His receptionist asked over the phone.
“Yeah, it’s been at least three years.”
Inquisitively with a touch of concern in her voice, “Have you been seeing someone else? Another doctor?”
“No… no. Nothing much on the health front has come up.” I lied. I did have a touch of permanent-lung-damaging pneumonia. And, a persistent arm rash that needed ointment… expensive goop to clear it up.
On the second visit for the rash that I made to the doctor (Dr. Mitchell) who I was two-timing my real doctor with, I pressed him for answers, “Doctor, this rash it won’t go away. Is it anything to worry about? I’m starting to think I may have leprosy.”
“No… it’s nothing. The cream I’m prescribing should clear it up in no time.” Now smiling. “And yes, you do have leprosy. I just didn’t know how to tell you… I guess, I just did.” What a fun doc!
“No! Dr. Musial will always be my doctor.” Calming the receptionists concerns. He knows my whole story, therefore, I’m not going anywhere. Am I dating him? He’s a great guy, and I do kind of miss him in a doctor/patient sort of way. He did buy me flowers and chocolates once, presented to me after a prostate exam.
“What’s this, oh my, you shouldn’t have.” Blushing profusely. He hadn’t. Another lie.
It was time to come clean. “I did go to the clinic down the street from my house a couple of times. But it was nothing. Really. No connection. It was after office hours. No wining. No dining. No kissing. It was just what it was. I promise I’ll never go again. I made a mistake.” Everything after, times, embellished.
Appointment rescheduled for next week… it was time to move forward with 155. Discouragingly, this has been a tough week. I’m crashing. Feeling beaten down. The challenge is going swimmingly, it couldn’t be going better, and for the most part my healthy eating has refreshed my taste buds, bringing them back to functioning. And God, my tummy, primarily the bellybutton, a second one is starting to materialize --- a sign of the beginning of svelte.
Why so glum?
Here comes the dark clouds of…
Because I’m scared. Because I’m scarred. I’m pretending to be okay… I’m not. I’ve been trying to implement my own advice for quite some time now by saying, “I’m doing well,” I’m not. I feel like I’m on the verge of collapse. I’m feeling as if my time is running out and is about to expire.
I fucking hate our world. I hate evolution… I mean the lack of any identifiable evolution. I can’t see it? Can you?
“Lindsay, you haven’t seen us for a long time now?” His receptionist asked over the phone.
“Yeah, it’s been at least three years.”
Inquisitively with a touch of concern in her voice, “Have you been seeing someone else? Another doctor?”
“No… no. Nothing much on the health front has come up.” I lied. I did have a touch of permanent-lung-damaging pneumonia. And, a persistent arm rash that needed ointment… expensive goop to clear it up.
On the second visit for the rash that I made to the doctor (Dr. Mitchell) who I was two-timing my real doctor with, I pressed him for answers, “Doctor, this rash it won’t go away. Is it anything to worry about? I’m starting to think I may have leprosy.”
“No… it’s nothing. The cream I’m prescribing should clear it up in no time.” Now smiling. “And yes, you do have leprosy. I just didn’t know how to tell you… I guess, I just did.” What a fun doc!
“No! Dr. Musial will always be my doctor.” Calming the receptionists concerns. He knows my whole story, therefore, I’m not going anywhere. Am I dating him? He’s a great guy, and I do kind of miss him in a doctor/patient sort of way. He did buy me flowers and chocolates once, presented to me after a prostate exam.
“What’s this, oh my, you shouldn’t have.” Blushing profusely. He hadn’t. Another lie.
It was time to come clean. “I did go to the clinic down the street from my house a couple of times. But it was nothing. Really. No connection. It was after office hours. No wining. No dining. No kissing. It was just what it was. I promise I’ll never go again. I made a mistake.” Everything after, times, embellished.
Appointment rescheduled for next week… it was time to move forward with 155. Discouragingly, this has been a tough week. I’m crashing. Feeling beaten down. The challenge is going swimmingly, it couldn’t be going better, and for the most part my healthy eating has refreshed my taste buds, bringing them back to functioning. And God, my tummy, primarily the bellybutton, a second one is starting to materialize --- a sign of the beginning of svelte.
Why so glum?
Here comes the dark clouds of…
Because I’m scared. Because I’m scarred. I’m pretending to be okay… I’m not. I’ve been trying to implement my own advice for quite some time now by saying, “I’m doing well,” I’m not. I feel like I’m on the verge of collapse. I’m feeling as if my time is running out and is about to expire.
I fucking hate our world. I hate evolution… I mean the lack of any identifiable evolution. I can’t see it? Can you?
I spin positive… all the time, like pretending to be okay, I think I might be lying, to me. How tragic?
What deposited me here? Where has the hope gone? How do I get out?
I don’t know ---- I think what scares me the most is if I was to die NOW, nobody would notice. I know that’s not true. And I know I’ve impacted others in a positive way, for the most part, I think. It’s also not fair to lay these festering, languishing, and destructive thoughts on those who’ve had my back for all of this time. I need to fool them the most to make sure they continue to be smothered in the belief that my ship will come in. I do it. I think. I’m not so certain I believe my grift anymore. As for positive, what a load of…
What deposited me here? Where has the hope gone? How do I get out?
I don’t know ---- I think what scares me the most is if I was to die NOW, nobody would notice. I know that’s not true. And I know I’ve impacted others in a positive way, for the most part, I think. It’s also not fair to lay these festering, languishing, and destructive thoughts on those who’ve had my back for all of this time. I need to fool them the most to make sure they continue to be smothered in the belief that my ship will come in. I do it. I think. I’m not so certain I believe my grift anymore. As for positive, what a load of…
“You sure suck at pep talks.”
“Who asked you?”
I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble getting past no longer having a family?
What a ridiculous question… I almost had a dad again, and I do have brunkles and sis-aunts, and a dying-living mother… they just don’t want anything to do with me. Harmony has been lopped away from that portion of life and now I’m trying accept a family not sharing blood. I’m lucky, my friends are beautiful of heart.
My near dad, wanted the role, he represented a new beginning after many years of confusion. He wanted the role! One simple test freed him of that responsibility and left me standing alone. Here comes the holiday season. I’m not sure if I’ll survive it. Of course I will. Another lie? Another con job?
I’m pissed at myself. Two days off a week from fitness for rest. Blue has turned that into four and counting. Tomorrow I’ll pick it up again. I can’t stay down. I can’t stay down.
Back to my doctor, next week. Physically, I’m fine. I think. I’ve booked the appointment to update him on my life. He’s good. He understands. He thinks I’m incredibly intelligent, almost a… I’ve tricked him. I’m good at tinting reality. That’s why I rescheduled, don’t want to show weakness, want to be strong so I can sell him on me. I want to be fucking good enough for the first time in my life. Can’t let him see that I’m doing a job that I hate and if something doesn’t come from my passion in creating soon, I’ll have to pretend again and add a second unfulfilling job. What a fucking mess. I’m forty-seven. I know I look much younger. I thank alcohol and sleep deprivation for that. I’ve even grifted age. I’m sure one day that play will unravel.
“Hello mirror. Oh my God… I look one-hundred.” Die now please.
“Quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
You’re right. It’s not a good course. I try not to, if you’ve read me right, you know that I avoid doing so. And, if you know me personally, there’s no question, positive, at least on the surface, reins supreme. However, it’s as each corner I turn I walk into a gossamer floating delicately in the air, the only problem as faint as the web is, I can’t break through it. I’m stuck. I seem to have been trapped for the last four years. I want my family… at least I want to belong. I don’t, and I never will.
I wanted my father to be alive again. It built for over three years. Not a day went by without me thinking, what if? We bonded. There was a certainty to it. A new corner was coming and the air was about to clear. There was uncertainty in the new route ---but excitement and new was to color the consistency of the unknown in bright uplifting shades.
I remember one day this past summer, my dad, during an effortless phone conversation, reaching through the lines and caressing my heart. He wanted to accept his role, pick me up, and begin our relationship. I never new I was down --- at least not until found out the truth. Anyway, after sharing our tales of life, and apologizing for his absence, it wasn’t his fault, in an attempt to ease my… he said, “Lindsay, what I want you to do from time-to-time, hold your own hands. I’m so sorry for whatever the lies have done to you. I want your pain to end. You’re a great man. Positive. Strong. I can’t imagine what this process is like for you. It can’t be easy.” My dad was… being a dad. A first. “Sit. Hold your own hands. Cause, if you’re holding your own hands, it’s impossible to lie to yourself. Lindsay, you’re a great man. I’m honored to be your father.” I didn’t know what the process was doing to him?
As you know, we met, he’s not my dad. Christmas is coming. My mother is dying. And, I don’t want my friends to carry my burden. I want to be strong and positive. I don’t want to cry. I want a home filled with love. But, and this may be selfish, I don’t know if I can be around another family that shows it.
In the perfect world, my new non-dad and I would stay in touch, forge a relationship… it’s a wonderful thought. Nothings perfect. He lives in another city, he’s got his own children, he’s seventy-two, and he’s not my dad. Our relationship was nothing more than a desperate fantasy which will quickly fade away. It’s just the way it is.
My friend Stevie and I went for lunch recently. Stevie and I are polar opposites. It doesn’t matter. We’ve bonded and share a genuine love. I shared my story, I was in an up mood. I tried to find comedy in the pain. “Stevie, for most of my life I was a mix of Romanian/ Scottish. For a bit when my parents came back to life, I wasn’t sure of my heritage. When dad was found, I became British/Romanian. Now, since dad, isn’t dad, I don’t know what or who I am? Maybe I‘m Jamaican?”
“Lindsay. You’re just, Lindsay. That’s more than good enough.”
I’m going to my doctor next week. When I’m feeling better. I want him to know the new chapters of my story.
He shares my past with his colleagues and he’s in awe with what’s transpired thus far --- along with my ability to process it. Another grift on my part. He’ll make me laugh. He’ll shake his head in understanding disbelief. And he’ll tell me I’m doing great. I’m not. I just pretend.
At least my visit will show him that I’m going to stay. I want him to be my Doctor.
I’m going to hold my hand for a bit tonight and spin positive thoughts. I must. I’m no good to anyone if I’m feeling sorry for myself. Tomorrow, down will blast to an end, at least for this bout of it, and tomorrow… I’ll smile again. I hope!
Out dark thoughts. Out dark thoughts. Out depressive bouts. Out…
I will allow love, happiness, health and prosperity into my life. I deserve it!
Hollywood’s gotten one thing right: Happy Endings!
“Who asked you?”
I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble getting past no longer having a family?
What a ridiculous question… I almost had a dad again, and I do have brunkles and sis-aunts, and a dying-living mother… they just don’t want anything to do with me. Harmony has been lopped away from that portion of life and now I’m trying accept a family not sharing blood. I’m lucky, my friends are beautiful of heart.
My near dad, wanted the role, he represented a new beginning after many years of confusion. He wanted the role! One simple test freed him of that responsibility and left me standing alone. Here comes the holiday season. I’m not sure if I’ll survive it. Of course I will. Another lie? Another con job?
I’m pissed at myself. Two days off a week from fitness for rest. Blue has turned that into four and counting. Tomorrow I’ll pick it up again. I can’t stay down. I can’t stay down.
Back to my doctor, next week. Physically, I’m fine. I think. I’ve booked the appointment to update him on my life. He’s good. He understands. He thinks I’m incredibly intelligent, almost a… I’ve tricked him. I’m good at tinting reality. That’s why I rescheduled, don’t want to show weakness, want to be strong so I can sell him on me. I want to be fucking good enough for the first time in my life. Can’t let him see that I’m doing a job that I hate and if something doesn’t come from my passion in creating soon, I’ll have to pretend again and add a second unfulfilling job. What a fucking mess. I’m forty-seven. I know I look much younger. I thank alcohol and sleep deprivation for that. I’ve even grifted age. I’m sure one day that play will unravel.
“Hello mirror. Oh my God… I look one-hundred.” Die now please.
“Quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
You’re right. It’s not a good course. I try not to, if you’ve read me right, you know that I avoid doing so. And, if you know me personally, there’s no question, positive, at least on the surface, reins supreme. However, it’s as each corner I turn I walk into a gossamer floating delicately in the air, the only problem as faint as the web is, I can’t break through it. I’m stuck. I seem to have been trapped for the last four years. I want my family… at least I want to belong. I don’t, and I never will.
I wanted my father to be alive again. It built for over three years. Not a day went by without me thinking, what if? We bonded. There was a certainty to it. A new corner was coming and the air was about to clear. There was uncertainty in the new route ---but excitement and new was to color the consistency of the unknown in bright uplifting shades.
I remember one day this past summer, my dad, during an effortless phone conversation, reaching through the lines and caressing my heart. He wanted to accept his role, pick me up, and begin our relationship. I never new I was down --- at least not until found out the truth. Anyway, after sharing our tales of life, and apologizing for his absence, it wasn’t his fault, in an attempt to ease my… he said, “Lindsay, what I want you to do from time-to-time, hold your own hands. I’m so sorry for whatever the lies have done to you. I want your pain to end. You’re a great man. Positive. Strong. I can’t imagine what this process is like for you. It can’t be easy.” My dad was… being a dad. A first. “Sit. Hold your own hands. Cause, if you’re holding your own hands, it’s impossible to lie to yourself. Lindsay, you’re a great man. I’m honored to be your father.” I didn’t know what the process was doing to him?
As you know, we met, he’s not my dad. Christmas is coming. My mother is dying. And, I don’t want my friends to carry my burden. I want to be strong and positive. I don’t want to cry. I want a home filled with love. But, and this may be selfish, I don’t know if I can be around another family that shows it.
In the perfect world, my new non-dad and I would stay in touch, forge a relationship… it’s a wonderful thought. Nothings perfect. He lives in another city, he’s got his own children, he’s seventy-two, and he’s not my dad. Our relationship was nothing more than a desperate fantasy which will quickly fade away. It’s just the way it is.
My friend Stevie and I went for lunch recently. Stevie and I are polar opposites. It doesn’t matter. We’ve bonded and share a genuine love. I shared my story, I was in an up mood. I tried to find comedy in the pain. “Stevie, for most of my life I was a mix of Romanian/ Scottish. For a bit when my parents came back to life, I wasn’t sure of my heritage. When dad was found, I became British/Romanian. Now, since dad, isn’t dad, I don’t know what or who I am? Maybe I‘m Jamaican?”
“Lindsay. You’re just, Lindsay. That’s more than good enough.”
I’m going to my doctor next week. When I’m feeling better. I want him to know the new chapters of my story.
He shares my past with his colleagues and he’s in awe with what’s transpired thus far --- along with my ability to process it. Another grift on my part. He’ll make me laugh. He’ll shake his head in understanding disbelief. And he’ll tell me I’m doing great. I’m not. I just pretend.
At least my visit will show him that I’m going to stay. I want him to be my Doctor.
I’m going to hold my hand for a bit tonight and spin positive thoughts. I must. I’m no good to anyone if I’m feeling sorry for myself. Tomorrow, down will blast to an end, at least for this bout of it, and tomorrow… I’ll smile again. I hope!
Out dark thoughts. Out dark thoughts. Out depressive bouts. Out…
I will allow love, happiness, health and prosperity into my life. I deserve it!
Hollywood’s gotten one thing right: Happy Endings!
progress report
“Wow. Your pep talks, suck.”
Well, life isn’t always easy, and my new realities, which happen to mirror my past realities, are fresh. Time hasn’t eased the surge of hurt, yet. One day it will!
As for fitness/health progress: I lost a couple of days of training due to my mental state and the corresponding dysfunction. That’s okay, if obsession had taken over my training, I’d try to make it all up in the next couple of days. I won’t. I’ve got a lot more life left, and it’s okay to spread near-perfection over the rest of it. Guffaw!
“You’re talking about your progress, aren’t you?”
“Oh yeah. This week I’m only weighing myself once, Saturday. My goal is still to shave off 8 lbs and drop to 164 lbs --- which may be a stretch now. My calorie intake has been decent. A bit over my mental goal of 1500 per day, yet, still far below the 2500 allowable. If I was a betting man: I bet I’ll only drop below 170. I’m not.
I’ve got three days left to work out and cut calories… I’m gonna make it. You’ll see. Tomorrow I’m only going to eat air. If a burger or some tuna or anything else happens to be levitating in the air I eat, so be it. I’ll keep you posted.
Last thing: I’m only weighing myself once this week as a means of suppressing obsession, and damn it!.. A couple of blind days is fun and helps me to hone my awareness skills.
And quit your kvetching* about my pep talks, it’s called life. If you have any life issues you’d like some direction with visit http://www.askseed.blogspot.com/ where you may find some answers!
fitness fact/tip
Muscle burns fat!
Now that you have a bit of a handle on the consumption of food, understand that spot reduction doesn’t exist, personal goals are just that: personal, and that there is a fine line between obsession and a healthy lifestyle, which includes fitness. It’s now time to kick start your metabolism.
Sit back and grab a nice glass of antioxidant rich red wine. Maybe some almonds. Good. If you recall from one of the beginning posts, 1-fat gram = 9 calories; 1-protein gram = 4 grams.
What does this mean to you?
“Look at that blubber fly.”
Since you’ve started to consume much healthier foods, and have an awareness of allowable consumption, and you’re working out like a crazy non-obsesseddog (wo)man, by this time your baby fat will be beginning to melt away. That is if you’re holding your own hands, and if you’ve included resistance training as part of your program.
Since you’ve started to consume much healthier foods, and have an awareness of allowable consumption, and you’re working out like a crazy non-obsessed
Muscle weighs more than fat!
Muscle is much more efficient than fat!
Muscle is much more efficient than fat!
More efficient translates to burning more calories all of the time, 24/7. Fat just hangs, that is it’s only responsibility. Droop, droop, drooping, clogging, esteem wrenching, death-defying fat. Carrying excess speeds up your heart, brings lethargy to your
Muscle does the exact opposite, and a more efficient body helps you to get through the day enjoying whatever life brings your way, without the added panting of fatness.
Sure, cardio training is great, however, if you want to seriously change your body, a combination of resistance and cardio training is required. You probably know people who jog/swim every day, and although they dump pounds, they still carry around a helping of extra-loose girth, the dreaded last few pounds. Resistance training is needed to tighten the girth and it is a vital part of any health and fitness program.
“You mean if I work-out with weights my forks will lose their racing stripes?”
Well…
More on the benefits of weight training in a future chapter. Including: muscle vs. tone.
Bonus morsel:
I caught an episode of the “Biggest Loser” the other night. Oh my God! And I’m Spiritual, not religious. First off, I’m not so sure I like what the name implies, perhaps a more positive title would be a better option. But if it helps these folks change their lives and they are not left to their own accord afterward, brilliant. If they are just ratings guinea pigs… I guess at least they’ve had a great opportunity to learn.
Anyway, some off the contestants are coming close to losing a me. Translation: losing my current body weight. Mind boggling! Look at others and imagine if they were carrying another you --- only to lose it in three months, how the bleep could anyone let themselves get so obese?
Unbelievable. I wish them the best for the future. In all honesty, most of the contestants should’ve dropped dead long ago. Really, unbelievable, a whole me!
consumed
day eight:
- B’fast: ½ glass mango smoothie. 90
- 500 ml. Chocolate milk. 320
- 30 g. Peanuts. 180
- Lunch: Toasted chicken sandy. 350
- Juice Blueberry & Pomegranate (glass). 120
- Dinner: pork chops 340 g. (223 c 100 g.) 670
- Corn. 80
- Rice (classics) 1.5 servings. 180
- G total for the day. 1990
day nine:
- B’fast: ½ Arthur‘s green smoothie . 130
- Lipton green tea iced tea. 120
- Blueberry muffin. 135
- Lunch: Fat burger grilled chicken/cheese. 470
- 2 Iced tea. 300
- 30 gms. Peanuts 180
- Dinner: pork chops. 300
- Corn. 80
- Rice (classics) 1.5 servings. 180
- Juice Blueberry & Pomegranate (glass). 120
G total for the day. 2015
day ten:
- B’fast: Tasty green goodness smoothie. 150
- Chocolate milk 170
- Blueberry muffin. 135
- Lunch: three poached eggs 380
- 2 Iced tea. 300
- 60 gms. Peanuts 360
- Dinner: chicken 200 gms. 350
- Iced tea. 150
- Peas. 80
- Rice (classics) 1.5 servings. 180
- Juice Blueberry & Pomegranate (glass). 120
- G total for the day. 2375 piggy - piggy.
book update
Nothing new, except I’ve cranked out a couple of articles to: The Washington Post and The Christian Science Monitor.
love is in the air
Just a question for the day: How many sexual encounters does someone need to have before they start losing their soul?
Check the right hand side of the Blog for a place to vote.
financial forecast
I’m a bit scared. I need some (see book update/freelance writing) results or I may need to subsidize my income by working at a Drive-thru. Argh… or perhaps, milking cats. Or performing… in front of busloads of Japanese tourists.
randomness
I phoned my great friend, Danielle, on the day that I was meeting my father for the first time. “Danielle, this his so incredibly emotional. I’m meeting my father today. I hate my life at times. It’s so tiring when people ask what’s new? I sometimes want to lie. I don’t want everything to be about me. You know me… I want boring. I’m meeting my seventy-two year old father today. Can you believe it? Why does it have to be about me?” And then I paused to breathe.
“Lindsay, we just go to the store.”
I don’t want my life to be boring. Although extreme, I haven’t scripted most of the plot. I don’t think any of us truly do. Destiny vs. choice?
I lean toward destiny, at least when family is involved in the picture.
My heartache in the pep talk is just the way it is supposed to be, all I did was be born. And of course events like meeting dad, was going to impact me significantly. When I said the lack of evolution scares me, i meant:
Life can be mother trucking difficult to understand, it’s meant to be, and if it isn’t now for you, it likely will be later. Sorry to tell you that. If not… you’re lucky, or perhaps, not living.
I share mine with others, because certain aspects of it don’t belong to me and are much bigger than my issues. Lots of people… and I believe lots have to deal with heartache, maybe not as bizarre as mine, everyday. And, it is important to talk and work your way through it. In my case, type. Where the lack of evolution comes in, mankind seems to have developed a harsh demeanor, ADD., and the acceptance of crap has left a lot of people scathed, and instead of trying to understand somebody else’s pain, “Hey, what’s on television?”
I’ll be okay… I have no choice. It’s important. I’ve got a mission to complete. Others need to laugh. The toughest part of my journey: have you ever wanted something so bad that you could taste it, it tastes sweet, and when it came out to be true, life instantly changes direction with an amazing ride about to unfold before you. My ride stopped. It never started. Not entirely true, three years of preparing for it did occur, unfortunately, it ended with the opening of a letter. Three years and BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE! It’s all over.
Emptiness.
And in that instant, by remaining unchanged, my life has changed more than I can even imagine. Talking about it is the only way for me to find meaning, in the process, I hope it lets others know that they’re not alone. At the very least, I hope the odd twist of bizarreness, brightens someone’s day!
*Kvetching was used because it is about time we all realized we all bleed the same. We for the most part have the same needs: love, family, love, hugs, love, family, eating, living, etcetera, and with the holidays upon us, let’s dump the political correctness regarding “Merry Christmas.”
Translation: Special interest groups… drop the fucking act. Most people are okay with others just being happy!
Be kind to others because pain may be hiding behind their eyes.
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