Decline

I have been putting off my exercises... Today, I did some... Though not well. I seem to have hit a wall with planking - the last three times I've done it, I gave out at almost exactly one minute and 24 seconds... I guess this is my barrier point, at this time.

But then... Today, everything seemed harder. It could be that the time off and the guilt about it have made me dread it. It could be that I asked my boyfriend to come and provide support and he didn't. It could be that it's late and I'm tired. Or perhaps all of the above. I did most of my pledged routine, but found crunches harder than usual, and leg lifts, oddly, easier. I may have been counting faster. I don't know. I kept momentarily losing track of the numbers, as though they'd scattered before my mind and I had to make a focused effort to remember them again. Nine in a row... that's a new record, if I did manage the counts properly. I think possibly it's got something to do with the way I'm holding my arms, locking my knees and clenching my midsection now.

I don't feel achieved, and I don't feel healthy. I feel weak, and depressed. I felt so bad after this excuse for a workout that I couldn't talk to my boyfriend when I came back to our room, could only gesture and make plaintive noises because I didn't want him to touch me and couldn't answer what was wrong, and he just wouldn't seem to stop trying to touch me and repeatedly ask the infuriatingly unanswerable question anyway.

From certain angles and poses, my abdomen feels kind of numb, like it's full of static. Some people on Fitocracy are trying to encourage me onwards, reminding me that whatever you're doing, it hurts less the more you do it. I don't feel capable of answering them. I don't think I'm willing to hold out until this is giving me significant help. It's too hard, and it's painful and depressing, like damn near everything else.

You know... I think I might have failed to take my pills one day too many this week. And certainly not at a reliable time. Sigh... I haven't stopped, though, which is something... I am actually doing it, still, just not doing it reliably or well.

So I guess this is a step in the right direction, as much as it doesn't, at the moment, feel like one.

The Powers of YouTube

This is likely to be a short update, because I feel compelled to post and reassure you all that I have not gone crazy with anxiety after my last post, but I don't actually feel I have a great deal to talk about.

To catch up, the anxiety was not the end of my fitness regime, but some recent frustration and depression due to the failure of a plan I had been getting rather invested in is causing some delays - by which I mean I'm upset and lazy and not doing it. For two days after my walking 11 km or so, I had a good excuse - my legs ached amazingly for a while, badly enough that I had to lean on banisters quite a lot while dealing with stairs, and even then walked like a rag doll in order not to bend my knees as much.

What plan, you might ask, was I so invested in? Our plan to move out of the tyrannical and unsupportive... and smelly... lodgings with my boyfriend's father, and into an apartment of our own, shared with another couple who are also facing concerns with their current living arrangements. Well, it turns out that a combination of Ontario Works bureaucracy and time constraints caused the only person involved who actually has any money right now to get cold-footed about investing in future shared living quarters, and back out... as far as I understand it, anyway. So, so much for that. I'd been looking forward to getting out of this mess with desperate excitement, so, I hope you'll understand, this setback has left me very grumbly and irritated.

As to what I've been doing in these precious days that I have not been working out... well... mostly playing either The Binding of Isaac or The Sims 3, and watching YouTube videos, as you might have guessed, given the title of this post.

Incidentally, I thoroughly suggest The Binding of Isaac to anyone who fancies classic gaming, clever systems of randomly generated level design with a generally tight, functional and simple play style, and things that make you ask "What the fuck is wrong with this game?" while simultaneously awed and disturbed at the imagery and strange content. You will die a lot. Be warned.

I don't particularly suggest The Sims 3, despite many impressive advances to the series, but chances are I really don't have to anyway.

Someone recently demonstrated to me the existence of a person called David Mitchell, who has a YouTube channel on which he occasionally rants about things that annoy him, or brings up things upon which he otherwise wishes to comment or make a suggestion about. The special effects in the visuals are impressive, and so is the wit. If you like my sense of humour (and if you don't, I can't understand why you would be reading my blog), you will probably also enjoy his.

I also, as a result of my partner's habitual browsing of Failblog, which I sometimes also take part in, I very recently discovered someone called C. G. P. Grey, who presents a variety of educational videos on his YouTube channel which are also well-made, delivered with impressive charisma and easy to understand, covering a variety of topics from time management to politics to misconceptions about animals, and even misconceptions about misconceptions (maybe).

And, for something completely different, John Cleese on the Monty Python channel reveals his insight into religion, stupidity, and the recently released game Skyrim, in this video.

Hopefully some of you find these links interesting and can forgive their contents for taking up most of my attention of late. I'll talk to you again once I have something new to say... Or possibly before then, if I feel, again, like I should do so.

What Stops Me

Today, I went for two long walks. A total of about 11 km. A total of almost three hours. One at evening, one in the middle of the night. I was stopped by a cop car on my way back on the second walk, which startled me a bit. Officer Question Mark asked me my name, which made me feel suspicious, and whether I was out doing anything I shouldn't be, which didn't. Apparently my answers satisfied him, because he left, still quite friendly, without much fuss.

Less than ten minutes later, a cabbie pulled over and asked if I was alright, too, amusingly.

But now I feel shaken. I keep imagining a conversation with the policeman, things I might have said, things I might like to say, about why I feel nervous talking to a man with a badge. Things about the protesters in the states, at Wall Street, at the University of California... nearer by, in Toronto... And the more I think about it, the more I seize up. I shake, I start to cry. There is so much I'd like to say, that I'm afraid to - not that I think these neighborhood cops, or this one in particular, is like that, just... just, the only thing I know for sure about them and about the ones from the stories and videos, is that they share the mark of authority, the badge. And I don't know.

Human beings need each other. We are not machines, as much as industry leaders might want us to be.
Human beings can exist and survive without houses, without electricity, without medicine or guns or modern plumbing, in very harsh conditions. We're amazingly resilient sometimes, really.
But I'm not sure human beings can survive without being able to trust each other.

This is not the first time since I started my workout that I've been afraid I might honestly not be able to convince myself to continue... But it's the first time I've felt something that I thought might be the thing to prevent me. I am again reminded of some of the things I'd like to do... some of the changes I'd like to make... some of the talking and standing up, and yes, protest, I'd like to take part in... And I'm reminded of what made me stop thinking about it last time.

I am terrified, paranoid. I don't think anyone is watching me, specifically, but I think if I started to do what I want to do, they might. And the helplessness, the fear... this paranoia, a feeling that even if I do become strong enough to be healthy... I may never be strong enough to be confident of my survival should I step into the place where trouble is... this, more than anything else... This, is what always stops me.

I feel so afraid, thinking about it, so helpless... I'm not sure I can do anything but sit here, stunned. I'm not sure I can find the courage for my workout tomorrow. How? In the face of this... can I ever feel brave? How can I feel strong, and use my strength, when I feel so weak? But I guess I'll find out, tomorrow.

Back Up, Back On, Full Forward! ... And Suddenly...

Dear diary readers, I did well today. I woke up in the morning, took my supplements even though they were late, delivered two resumes, and most importantly, I returned to my workout early, fully, and fiercely. I did it better than ever before! And all this before having breakfast... (which isn't exactly a good thing, but I just don't have much appetite in the morning before doing anything, and didn't want to exercise on a full stomach or put it off)

This is important because the last time I did my workout, I didn't do the third and last part of it, my leg lifts, which are tough and require endurance: Lie on back, with legs straight, lifted just slightly off the ground, and hold them there, as still as possible, for ten seconds... Then, gradually (as possible) raise until they are upright, above the pelvis, and hold there for another ten seconds. Lower and repeat. I try to do this ten times each time I work out, though I so far always have to take a break at least once in between - usually this means I do it in two sets of five repetitions. Today, I did a set of three, a set of four, and another set of three.

Besides just picking up and getting back into doing a part of my workout that I failed at last time, I also beat my record time for the plank (part one of my workout) with 75 seconds to beat last time's 73, and my earlier number of crunches (part two) managing 21 today, at which point I actually noticed that I was feeling the effort in my thighs as well as abdomen. I wonder, is that supposed to happen? I collapsed after my first set of three leg lifts, and had to take a few minutes' break before doing another set of four. After that, another short breather, and while waiting for my abdomen to recover enough to complete my routine, I decided to do something else in the mean time - so far, my workout is all building the strength of parts of my body by using them to lift and hold the weight of other parts of me. Cardio workout is also important, though, and I remember hearing somewhere, though I have no idea about the credibility of the source, that while you'll build muscle with strength training alone, it won't help you lose fat much...

So I settled on something easy that I know how to do, and did some jumping jacks. Forty, to be precise. I was thinking I'd do twenty, but I made it past twenty without much difficulty, so why stop there? At thirty I was getting a bit worn out, and by forty, where I decided to stop, I was starting to feel like I couldn't do much more, so probably a good stopping point.

I paced for a while, and had a glass of water, taking deep breaths and getting ready. "Just three more legs," I kept promising myself. I know the last ones are always the hardest - your muscles already ache, and the seconds drag on impressively. But... I did it. Just, but I did it. And I feel... triumphant. Roooooaar! Snarl! I am victorious! **chuckles**

And then something else happened.

I got an email from my mother.

The last notable time I remember this happening, she was writing to tell me that her father, my grandfather had died. Had. Died. Just to put this in a little bit more perspective... I was living not that far away. I didn't know he had taken ill. I don't usually stay in contact all that much with my family, and no-one had told me. I might have, could have, had a chance to visit him one last time, if someone had, but... ... I didn't know a thing about it, until my mom sent me a short email to tell me she thought I should know he was dead.

I got along well with my grandfather. He was a friendly, jovial type, a poet, and a musician, who played clarinet and french horn. I hadn't seen him since a family gathering over a year before. Never would again.

Now let me explain. My mother and I are not on good terms, and as far as I'm concerned never have been, at least not since before I can remember. Growing up, it was perfectly clear to me that whatever I ate, the clothes I wore, and even the additions my use made to the electricity, internet and water bills, were all taxing costs to her. We grew up in poverty, so I can understand that, to a point... But getting a pointed look whenever I put cheese on a sandwich (because 'cheese is expensive - not to mention fattening!') was... well. Just another part in the larger picture, another reminder that she was only putting up with the costs I inflicted upon her because she was, or considered herself to be, a good mother.

That much might not have been enough for me to hate her, and wouldn't be a very good excuse. No...

Mom worked a lot of the time I was home in late elementary and high school - sometimes I was lonely all by myself in the house, but not all that often, and I could always go for walks around town if I got bored. For the most part, being alone suited me fine. When she was home, though... The most common question she ever asked me was whether I had any homework, or had done it yet. She didn't seem to care that I was bullied terribly, even when I told her about it. Whether she just didn't know what to do or say about it, and so simply did nothing, or whether she didn't take me seriously, or whether she figured it would be good for my character in the long run, I have no idea. She smoked, and out of a sense that it was bad to smoke in front of youth for the sake of their health, eventually ended up designating one room of the house a smoking room, so she could smoke without going outside all the time. The smoking room had its own door, which at first didn't work, and plenty of windows to let the smoke out, which was good...

And after a while, also had a television in it. At that point, she seemed to spend almost all the time that we were both home in the smoking room, often with her boyfriend, even if neither of them were smoking. I am, again, not sure whether this was a deliberate measure to avoid me, because the smoking room was somewhere I refused to go because of the smell, but it served as such, and made her difficult to get the attention of or approach. Being alone in a house, to me, has never seemed to be a bad thing, really. There is a sense of privacy and a certain thrill to having the place all to yourself, even if only for a short time. The same cannot be said of being alone, quite profoundly alone, when there is someone who supposedly loves you in the next room over... and you can't bring yourself to try to talk to them.

I know, because she told me once, that she found my tantrums, the times when I was upset and angry and needed attention, to be frightening, and that this is often why she avoided me when I most needed someone to talk to - or complain to - or scream at. Forgive me for thinking that this is not a very good excuse for avoiding, rather than resolving, conflict with one's own child, or for that matter, an example of good parenting.

The worst thing was, by far, that effectively speaking, I was not allowed to disagree, and I was not allowed to have social needs - like attention, or a hug, or forgiveness. Such things were given if I was in all ways co-operative, sometimes. If ever I objected to being shouted at because I didn't immediately come to help bring in groceries after my mom was having a hard day, or was frustrated because she had a habit of phrasing what were obviously meant to be commands as questions, along the line of "Would you like to help me with supper? ...What do you mean, 'No'!?" I would be subjected to a tirade of insults and labels, including "selfish," "insolent", "rotten", "bitchy", "spoiled brat", "inconsiderate", and several others.

And she never. Ever. EVER said she was sorry or apologized to me without some form of the following attached to it:
"but you treat me just as badly or worse than I treat you"
"but I don't have the patience..."
"but if you're being completely impossible, I don't see how you expect..."
"but I deserve respect too"
"but what goes around comes around, missy"...

et cetera. She seemed constantly, utterly convinced that every time I got angry, every time I needed or wanted more than she was already giving, it was a conspiracy to guilt-trip her.

She even hit me, once - just once, that I can ever remember. We were arguing, and I think I had shoved her. I don't remember the context, exactly, but she slapped me soundly across the face. I was shocked, and more surprised than anything. It stung, yes, but the pain wasn't really important. Just the shock of the fact that she had hit me made me go kind of still for a second.

And I would be willing to forgive that, in and of itself.
A minute later, and ever since then... She denied it ever happened.

Of course... like everyone, mother has her good sides. Her cooking was fantastic, and she had a good singing voice. She sometimes used to sing songs to me in the car, and I still remember and can repeat several of them, including "Waltzing Matilda", "Donna Donna", "Somos El Barco", and several others. She had a strong sense of humour which was sometimes cringe worthy, but we enjoyed joking back and forth at each other sometimes, and I could often amuse her with my silliness.

There were things I thank her for, like teaching me how to make a really good tuna salad sandwich, which remains one of my favorite meals, in some variation or another, to this day. But the good neither outweighs nor excuses the bad.

For the past several years, most of the time since I left home at 18, really, I have usually maintained a stance of diplomatic silence towards her. She occasionally attempts to contact me, but I rarely respond, mostly because her message is usually along the lines of "I'm ready to make reparations if you are, the ball's in your court", and mentioning how much she wants to patch things up. Again, as always, subtly making it seem as much dependent on my initiative, and everything as much my fault, as conceivably possible.

I have no response to that that I expect to be of any use, so I do not respond. There is nothing I can say that would be honest without inciting a fight. I am too angry, too bitter and cynical and too aware of the subtext of it, not willing to put up with it, especially not from her, not any more. No. I am not, ever, going to be caught nodding politely and saying "Yes, mother," while she lists my crimes against her. I have never been willing to do so, which is why we used to fight so often, and I sincerely doubt I ever will. Not even if I have no house to sleep in in dead winter. Death first.

At some point in the year after I left home, I don't remember precisely when, she informed me I was no longer welcome at her house, as a guest or otherwise. And since then, well. More or less this. Mostly silence. Very occasional breaks in it.

So... she sent me an email today, surprisingly completely blank, just with a document attached to it. I was tempted to just delete it, because I wasn't sure I had the patience to take this today... But I opened it anyway, just to see what it was.

It was a short letter, written in red and in the shape of a heart, for Valentine's Day.

It read:

"It's been several years since I took the steps I did toward (or rather away from) you. It was probably the hardest thing I have ever felt that I had to do, and has not become any easier, really, with the passage of time. I know I have not always been the best mom. I have my shortcomings and blind spots, as do we all. Though, for better or for worse... I am your mother... and I love you, have always loved you and will always love you more than you may ever know. I have so longed for a healing of the scars which we have inflicted upon each other over the years, and to be able to share a harmonious and supportive relationship. I realize that it would have to be a combined effort and also may not be easy. I had been waiting and hoping that you would be the one who would initiate a reconciliation with me, between us, though perhaps this is more than I should count upon. And the thought that we may never reconcile is more than I can bear. I just wanted you to know that I'm still here, still love and miss you and still wait, with hopes and prayers for you. Know that you are in my heart.

What more can I say ~ In my heart ~ on Valentine's Day"

I don't really know what to say to this. It shocks me almost like that slap, way back when... Surprisingly, this is a lot more mature than she usually is, and contains much less blame, if you can believe that. She's... certainly made progress.

And yet at the same time, it enrages me the way her messages usually do, with implications that most if not all of this is entirely my fault, or at least somehow my responsibility.

I imagine the way I feel right now might be akin to the way an openly and happily gay person might feel reading a similar letter from his or her deeply religious and traditional parents.

She's making progress. Which impresses me, and indicates that she really is trying to make some form of compromise with me... and just falling well short of the mark. She doesn't know how to do this. She may not even understand why her words are offensive to me, to her they're just the simple truth of her perspective...

I don't know. Either way, it hurts.

I don't plan to answer her. I still don't have anything to say to this, and it is essentially the same message she's been sending me over and over (kind of like the endless internet-regulating bills currently being pumped out by media interest groups in the U.S...).

However... it's... better, this time. And if she keeps getting better this way... Maybe someday, maybe even someday not too distant... Maybe I will.

FetLife: About Me

FetLife is a website for kinksters, fetishists, slaves and masters, virtually anyone who practices or would like to experience kink, BDSM, or any form of non-standard sexuality. It's a very, very social website, and if any of you are inclined to check it out, go right ahead. You only have your purported innocence to lose.

I am quite happy with the new write-up I put there today to reflect the changes in my attitude and intentions since  the last time I wrote my "About Me" bio. So, if you are brave enough, read on for a little more insight into my mind and the way I think.

It's time for change. 

I have just started a workout habit that hopefully will last. I am not yet in London, but that's where I'm headed next. 

I want to change my hair, add a new name to my standard collection, learn, develop, and keep going. 

I could probably be described as "vanilla with a hint of kink" - I'm not all that active, haven't really spent much time with anything traditionally BDSM. Some of the 'interests' I do have are taboo and strange. If you get to know me, you might learn of them. 

Generally speaking, I am not in a position in which I feel safe giving up control and I am not comfortable doing to other people this same thing which would feel terrifying and abusive to me. 

Sometimes pain (like hard fingernails raked hard down the back) can be relaxing in its discomfort, like a reminder of mortality, of the limits of the self, what I am and what I am not... and like a slap in the face that returns one to a larger perspective. Sometimes just embracing the physicality of the body and its experiences is reassuring in a way. 

Sometimes... we are animals born to fuck, born to fight, to gorge, to hurt, to be ashamed and vulnerable and get back up and keep living, at war and at peace with our animalism, and proud of the beauty of our individual identities. Anyone who misses this point, is, deluded. Period. 

We are complete with our scars... But it is better to slowly heal the scars than rip them open to scar again for pride's sake. 

I am gentle and ferocious, I change with the winds. I am tired and bitter, and always trying hard to find evidence of people and things that will somehow consistently fail to disappoint me. These things are few. 

I am angry and upset, often for no obvious reason beyond the background of the world and how fucking wrong it is about so many things... 

And yet... This world that we are living in now, may be the safest, the sanest, the most co-operative and peaceful, the best regulated and easiest to build on, that the world our Earth has ever been. 

Now... is that disappointing? Or is that inspiring? 

There is always music, even when it hurts to hear.
There is always beauty, even when there is also pain, misery, and death.
This is your life. You can ruin it or throw it away, or get it messy, if you want to.
And I can spend a few hours of mine from time to time encouraging you not to.
This is equally my right as your freedom is yours.
We are social creatures. We need each other.
We are not the machines that the Industrial Age tries to force us to be.
I sincerely look forward to a truly Post-Industrial Age.
It IS coming. Those who stand in the way of the future may stall it but cannot prevent it. They will move, or they will fall. 

This is who I am. Do you want some?

Alejandro

(originally posted on FetLife on July 10, 2010)

Lady Gaga is not a subject I would normally admit to starting a conversation about...

But I had to sit myself down and do some real thinking about bias and bitterness when, after finding a link to one of these music videos, described by the linker (don't remember who, but it was on youtube) as a really interesting demonstration of gender assumptions and such things, and going there, and watching and listening...

Well. I like the song, I have to admit. But I found myself having a very hard time accepting that I liked a song performed by Lady Gaga. And I found myself thinking that if it had been done by Ace of Base instead, I could have loved it and had no issue of feeling like I'd just smiled and shaken hands with Adolf Hitler. Which makes no sense, because I'll admit, Ace of Base has made some songs I consider almost pukeworthy for being idiotic, cliched and shallow... and also some songs I consider brilliant, but that doesn't diminish the badness of the bad.

And this is why myself had to take me aside for a little talk about bias. In front of someone, because I find it almost impossible to talk through these things properly unless I'm talking "to" someone.

Is Lady Gaga evil?

Well... erhhm?

Come on, Emily, erhhm is not a functional answer. What exactly is your problem with her?

And, well. Sigh. It turns out my problem with Lady Gaga is that a great, great many careless idiots love her music. It's popular. Fullstop. That's it.

And -some- of it, I don't like based on content as -well-, quite definitely. But, as has been discovered, not all.

But this brings me back to a very old problem of mine (as a not very old girl, anyway) of hating the popular simply because it is popular and I believe for both reasons bitter and senseless and reasons rooted in intelligence and perception, AND reasons that other people just told me and I find believable (let's not be denying that I'm perfectly capable of adopting other peoples' opinions just because they sound good, too, that would be dishonest)... that the methods by which things become popular are stupid, stupid methods that should die.

The problem is that even assuming that it's true things become popular for incredibly stupid reasons (such as, for instance, that a great many idiots like them, as one of the less conspiratorial explanations), does NOT mean that anything selected by this process will necessarily be horrible. Only that it WON'T necessarily be good. There's a difference. And...

Alright. Does her music condone violence?

Um... No, not any songs that I know of, anyway.

Does it condone hatred then?

Er... I don't think so? Does coldness count? Apathy? Psychological power tripping? Some of them seem to condone that.

No. It doesn't count.

Well damnit.

Yep.

(Sigh) ... Alright! Alright. Lady Gaga is not... Hang on wait! Um - Some of her songs may condone stupidity?

(Impatient sigh) Yes?

Well... ... Umm... ... Okay, okay! Fuck it. Fine! Lady Gaga is not evil.

Thank you. And?

(reluctant mumble) and it's not fair to hate her because she's popular...

And?

S'ry.

Well, there now. That wasn't so hard, was it?

Mumble mumble should have been harder mumble.

Oh, come on now, none of that.

... And in fact... Well. There -are- some really interesting and bizarre things in what she's doing there. Getting a small group of butch-looking men in militay uniform to dance in her own feminine style (and presenting a bunch of men almost naked wearing spiky heeled shoes) - and the resulting image, and how it looks to someone living in this culture (if you're watching one of the men in those scenes, and not her, for a minute - incredibly silly) DOES say a lot about gender roles, and about the repression and pressure and limitations on -men-...

Is it really any wonder we see so many crossdressers and "sissies" on FetLife? Us genetic females aren't the only ones who like to experiment with acting and dressing, and dancing, etc, in different ways.

I think there's something here I haven't been paying enough attention to the value of, because I've been a bit blinded by stupid hate.

And that... Well. It hurts. It's extremely embarassing and sad.

Let it never, ever be said that intelligent people are above stupidity.

And let it never be assumed that we should have to be.

Now that would be unreasonable bias.

SS

Fitocracy

Fitocracy is a website which endeavors to provide resources, community support, and motivation, for people who are trying to get, or stay, fit, by working out. It provides information on, and credit for, a very broad range of fitness activities, from dancing, swimming, biking and long walks, to barbell strength training and challenging courses like P90X. The community encourages and makes use of courses including Starting Strength, You Are Your Own Gym, and Convict Conditioning, among other things.

At present, the site is invitation-only, but I've heard that you can find invites on Google if you look.

Had enough gratuitous links yet?

I introduced myself to the community... technically, just earlier today. If you have an account on Fitocracy, you can see my introduction thread here, and feel free to follow me if you like.

Okay, I'm finished with the links now, I promise. ;)

For those of you who don't have a Fitocracy account, here is the self-introduction I posted there:

Hello, Fitocracy. Deep breath, blush, gulp, exhale, smile.

A friend of mine told me about this site because he's using it as part of his new lifestyle plan to save him from health problems, and offered to invite me when I told him I was interested in starting to work out, too.

I am 21, female, have a multitude of vague health problems mental, emotional and physical, especially anxiety, hypothyroidism, occasional symptoms of depression, etc... and am overweight.

I have never been athletic, or spent much time or energy working out - I loathed gym teachers and the popular fit kids in high school and stayed away from them as often as possible. I am a gamer (role-playing games like D&D, and video games, mostly on PC) and am proud to be labeled a geek, but I know my sedentary lifestyle is not doing me any favours, and I'm going to have to really make some changes in my lifestyle in order to get anywhere, since the cyclical situation of poverty, unemployment, laziness, helplessness, and unhealthiness is very much self-enforcing.

Yesterday evening, I sent above-mentioned friend this email (lightly modified):

~~~

Today was my second day of working out, not counting yesterday (which was a break to recover from the first workout the day before). Both times, I've done a minute (or slightly more) of planking, 15 crunches and 10 leg lifts, in two sets of five (ten seconds held just off the floor and ten seconds held up, each). My abdomen is weak and shaky, but I feel proud and relieved that I could do it again. My boyfriend had advised me not to do the second set of five for fear that I was pushing myself too hard, but I did it anyway. I think I can take it, even though it is hard. I look forward to the point at which this (or at least, just this much) stops making my body's core ache significantly for a whole day afterward. Actually doing something grants a much more optimistic perspective, even if it doesn't change many of the problems I was facing...

Would you be so kind as to send me a code to join Fitocracy?

I think I'm ready.

SS

~~~

I am not here to become a bodybuilder or pro athlete, or even necessarily to get to levels of health other people consider good - I just really need to improve my own health, reduce fatigue, develop a healthy sleeping schedule (this is going to be HARD - I sleep during the day by default and going to bed early causes me to wake up after four hours in the middle of the night... I cannot fall asleep without being very tired, and am not sure how to manipulate my tiredness to arrive at convenient times), and get my energy levels under control so that I can start doing other things effectively with the confidence it should give me.

I'm suspicious of my own start, because I'm familiar with the cycle of getting hyped about something and then quickly losing interest after a couple of days, and I really, really don't want to repeat it with this, it's too important.

I hope it's a good sign that yesterday I felt impatient and really wanted to work out more even though I knew my body needed a break. ^^ That anticipation of doing more and making progress, the anticipation of being able to do more in the future, is a really sweet feeling.

I've spent a few hours now looking at the site, reading some of the Beginners' sources here (This one looks like it could be very, very useful), etc. It's overwhelming and intimidating seeing so many of the work-out options, and how much some of the active members manage to do. I'm very anxious, but excited. So now I'm here - for advice and support, and possibly for your entertainment. I hope you don't mind the very long and expressive style of writing - I'm like this all the time, unless severely distracted. So, ah... If you'd like to comment on, or be privy to, my personal journey... Welcome! And thanks for the little bit of help that attention and affirmation bring.

SS out... For now.

Edit: Currently, the plan is to start with the above workout every other day, with a day of rest in between, and my first-steps goals are: 1) to be able to do all ten leg-lifts in one set without a break in the middle, and 2) to reach a point at which I can start working out every day rather than every other day, without hurting myself.

Once I've reached these goals, I will try to do more reps, hold them longer, plank for longer, and add more elements - perhaps some wall push ups.

If you can give me an appraisal of this plan, or would like to suggest an addition to it, feel free.

About a Year Passes.

You know... sometimes you can't see progress until you compare different things from over a long period of time.

Not that it's very material progress, mind you. I have moved several times, completely failed to find a doctor or counselor that I can live with, and have spent about 3-4 months volunteering, no time at all actually employed.

But... Now, think back... What were my GOALS? Originally, I mean. When I made this blog. Sometimes you have to dig to find them, but not very far in this instance, I listed them on my first post.

"The intended effects of this project are:

• to allow me to understand, communicate, and solve, some of my own personal issues with greater confidence
• to gain respect and opportunities for my academic abilities
• to improve my own morale and overall confidence and assist in gradual recovery from my depression and anxiety"

And amazingly... while I have completely and utterly neglected to actually study rationalism, as I had set out to do... I have made progress on the fronts that I was, essentially, intending to make progress on.

To allow me to understand, communicate, and solve, some of my own personal issues with greater confidence.

Simply living through my life experiences in the most honest and self-aware ways I could has accomplished this naturally. Though I experience a lot of conflict and tend to inflate it before resolving it, I have learned more about myself and how I function, and have gotten gradually better at self-presenting in ways that are accurate, defining what I am looking for, and even, in some ways, actually looking for it. I still have a very long way to go, especially on that last front. I have developed new relationships and somehow managed to still be in the one I was in when I started this blog. It isn't perfect, and it's certainly not smooth. But in some fundamental way, as fucked up as it is, it's working.

Just like Western civilization, ba dum tish.

Humour is a wonderful way to soothe personal issues. Such as, for example, being far too uptight. I think I am generally much more relaxed now. This is a good thing. If I can remember the last time I had a major panic attack, it was a very long time ago. This is a very good thing. I have become much better at telling people when I am angry or upset or offended and what about. Et cetera.

Of course, this is all just maturing, and should come with time.

But a lot of people manage to avoid it, and I'm not, so I'll take that credit, thank you very much.

To gain respect and opportunities for my academic abilities

As respect from an outside community does not come if you fail to act to impress it, I have not obtained much of it, except from friends and briefly impressed strangers. Admittedly, I have not actively pursued this goal, and as such have not attained it. This may change. Maybe.

To improve my own morale and overall confidence and assist in gradual recovery from my depression and anxiety

Ahh, the holy grail, and the biggest, baddest, and most urgent of my (cl)aims. In case it has not already been made clear... I have made substantial progress on this ground. While I have not found a doctor I like or trust, I did, for a while, have a doctor, and I got my blood checked out. It turns out I have hypothyroidism, which often mimics depression and anxiety in many ways. It took me quite a long time to accept that I did, in fact, need the supplements which would balance out this issue, and so I had many false starts in taking them.

I have now been doing so for over a month, fairly reliably. I miss one here and there when I fail to plug in my alarm clock or something, but I am now in the habit, and the neutralizing effect on my mood has been noticeable. While still stormy and wrathful, and inclined to be enraged by stupid things in the world, I find myself less often stuck in a depression and unable to get out. The depressions I do feel can be reasonably tied to external factors, like the unpleasant living conditions I am currently enduring - I live in a cramped room with no storage and quite a lot of mess (storage is necessary for organization, unless you're content with categorical piles of stuff), in an apartment rented by a passive-aggressive authority figure (boyfriend's dad) I actively dislike, and I believe the feeling is likely mutual. I lack the motivation to actively work on quite a few things that I do want to accomplish in time, but that is largely tied to being in a state and place which is intended to be transitory. I don't, for example, want to find a job here, because I want to move to London, and getting a job here would necessitate staying.

Confidence comes better with stability, better still with action and progress.

I have started working out. I've done two days of it so far, and have been happily announcing this achievement to everyone I know. I'm starting reasonably small - just enough, every other day, to make me ache on the off days. I'll build on this over time.

My partner and I have also started to change our eating habits, albeit slowly. We're doing a meal replacement thing with protein shakes once a day. I expect we'll make it two later on, when we have more of a sense of our sleeping and waking and eating schedule. This promises, interestingly enough, to make grocery shopping likely quite a bit cheaper. Which is useful, for the unemployed. We'll see how much as time goes on.

I hope to start posting here about everyday things more often, whether they are rational and on the original topic or not. Maybe build a few readers. Have a public diary, kind of thing. I've never been able to keep a diary (I'm sure you'd never have guessed). And it's not just that I fail at committing to things. It always seemed profoundly pointless writing down my thoughts, expressing myself, without any expectation of actually sharing it with anyone.

So welcome. Be the audience to bits and pieces of my life, if you care to. For now, I'm going to post here a couple of things that I wrote in other communities that I would like to make visible here as well. I think I will store some of my poetry here. After all, it's one of the things I'd like to share. I might start posting art, too, at some point, because it's something I do sometimes and want to display and show off, even if I'm not all that good at it.

To clarify, here - I have been drawing for a long time, and the experience does show. I'm not bad, for an occasionally-practicing amateur, but not as good as I'd like to be, either, and I have been out of the habit for a while, so at the moment I'm probably not even as good at it as I have been in the past. We'll just have to see.

As to the satisfaction of realizing and working towards my goals even without much structure or any study at all... Is it a cop-out for me to claim success on my goals without having worked on them in the way I promised to? Of course it is. But that's okay. I have not been pursuing the study of rationality... but I have, occasionally, in small ways, been acting in a rational way - a way that got me closer to where I wanted to be. So is that a success? Is that really good enough?

Well, if you tell me it isn't, I can tell you where to shove your expectations of me.

I'm back, baby. And this time... I'm not taking myself quite so seriously.

Serpent Stare Out.