Where do I begin?
I’ve spent the past two days just staring at my computer screen drawing a blank and then proceed to want to pull out my unasian wavy, asian hair. It’s not ya’ll. You hear that the hardest part of getting anything done is to get started.
Honey, I say you need to get to the damn starting line first before even attempting to start anything. Like, I have to WANT to do something and somehow formulate a way to convince myself that I will benefit from writing, cooking, cleaning, exercising, and god knows what else. It sucks too because I used to have a concrete, steel reinforced, routine before I got into my car accident back on January 25th ( Yes, I remember the exact date and boy does it irritate me ).
I no longer can push myself out of bed at 5am and be excited to go pump iron and do some HIIT insanity either at the gym or at home with the wonderful, plethora of Youtube workouts I’ve archived. Now I just sloth around in my bed with my cat occasionally demanding I pet and massage behind his ears or else my face will have the pleasure of being attacked by a huge mass of white, cat food smelling fluff. I love my cat but, I ain’t going to love him demanding me to actually pay attention to him. Yes, he is a partial attention whore and fat ass due to my mother bribing him with the catnip treats because my mother has this odd fixation on my cat. When I first got my cat my mother was terrified by him.
I no longer have the drive to go workout like a beast and be completely fine leaving the facility sweating like a pig. I know my behavior isn’t due to me being “burnt out” because I haven’t done anything to burn anything! I mean, I’ve burned a couple of candles by lighting old spaghetti noodles so that mother doesn’t use them to feed anyone in the household while arguing that the noodles are fine. I do not think that a year old box of pasta is fine to feed your children. My mother is cheap 98% of time, otherwise she’ll do a 180 and say, “go treat yourself! Don’t worry about money.” Oh how I wish you told me that when I made the decision to move to Sacramento for the first time.
The pleather, burgundy arm chair imprisoned my mind and body for the 2 months I wasn’t “allowed” to do anything. Well, I wasn’t “allowed” to do anything unless I wanted to extend my physical therapy visits and mess up my traumatized muscle more then they already are.
Eating is a pain because you don’t really use a lot of energy, therefore there is no need nor incentive to consume the same amount of calories that you would have. I didn’t count calories as strictly as I should have because I was experimenting with different ways to up my intake of protein since my body does not agree with most fleshy, former living products. I was a vegetarian for about 5 years before I got to college and discovered that there is absolutely nothing to eat unless I want all the sodium from the dressings to kill me. Living in a tiny dorm box doesn’t help because, despite having a mini fridge, there only so much you can do with cold food. ( Energy bars became my lovers! )
I’m trying to try establish a retarded routine so that I can slowly build back up to my original lifestyle. I worked 4x a week for 6 hours as a waitress, went to school completing 17 units, worked out, volunteered, and found time to spend quality with my beu thang.
Actually, looking back, I think I was crazy to even maintain my sanity for as long as I did with that type of schedule. This did not include the myriad of bullshit I had to fight with my school’s administration, apartment management, the children who acted more like 8 year old than 19 roommates, and dating/relationship issues. Don’t forget the hormonal gifts mother nature blesses women every month and containing the fire spitting, demonically raging monster within us women. ( Dear Male Species, please be nice to us when it is that time of the month or if we suddenly become extremely moody/hungry/horny/confused. Sincerely, from your beloved females.)