Well, maybe not easier.
I’ve been freaking out so much about my health. I’ve been sick for a long time. This past month has been better but I’ve had a pretty consistent sinus headache for the past three weeks.
Only I’m not sure it’s a sinus headache. I told the doctor this afternoon about my sinus headaches and the doctor who looks like he ate Rick Moranis smiled and said: Just to let you know..it might not be a sinus headache. A lot of people think they have sinus headaches, but they don’t.
I expected him to stuck is tongue out at me after he spoke. He also thinks the constant headache is due to the nasal spray he prescribed last month. He’s probably right. Dammit.
This is not what the post is about though. Not really.
I’ve been spending so much time fighting back the constant worry that something is really bad wrong with me and I’m going to die that I didn’t consider an equally horrifying prospect.
I had to wait in a waiting room for 55 minutes today. It was completely filled. I got the last seat. I was also by far and away the youngest person in the waiting room. I was also surrounded by people who had to use those voice box thingies.
Disclaimer: I am not poking fun or making light of people who have to use the voice box thingies. I feel compassion for them and I’m sure it’s not a pleasant thing to have to do. That being said, I was surrounded by them. Surrounded. By. Them.
Two old guys across from me were having a discussion with their voice box thingies. They were talking about how much they enjoyed Cracker Barrel. They discussed how many Cracker Barrels were in the greater Cincinnati area and they wondered how long they’d keep lighting the big fireplace before shutting them down for the season. There was also discussion that the fireplace thing might be at the discretion of the individual stores.
I defy you to listen to that conversation, while hearing a third person talking with a voice box thingy talking about where she might have left her spare insurance card, and not have to keep reminding yourself to not stare. The woman right next to me did not have a voice box thingy, but she was definitely raspy and she had a cane. She kept stomping her cane and waving it around. I was kind of afraid of her.
When they finally called my name, I nearly ran across the room, dodging wheelchairs and walkers like it was an obstacle course.
It dawned on me that I am past the half century mark and I’m likely looking at a future version of myself that is a lot goddamn closer than I like to admit.
Here’s where the decision comes in.
I started blogging in 2010. I had another blog that I wrote for over three years. I still feel pangs of guilt over how I abandoned it. I mean, I never wrote a goodbye post or anything. I just stopped writing it.
That blog was loosely about weight loss and getting into shape. Not a how to. Hahahaha. Fuck no. I really loved writing it, but after a while, decided I really didn’t just want to write shit about attempting a healthy lifestyle. It was getting boring to me. I was also failing.
I jumped back on the get healthy bandwagon last Summer and lost a little of the weight that I had lost and gained back, but that didn’t last long.
After dealing with a constant illness most of the Winter, I found myself right back in a fuck ton of my old habits.
I recently started making stabs at making healthier choices. I started working out again and am ignoring that I’m starting fucking over and I couldn’t even run a mile anymore without dying. No matter. I’ll get there. I have to start where I start.
It hasn’t been much of an attempt. I’d give up a workout for chicken wings and I haven’t even come close to deciding to give up sugar again. I hate fucking with my coffee.
Then I went to the doctor this afternoon and saw a possible future. Do I really want to be old and barely be able to move?
Sure, maybe it doesn’t matter what I do. That’s a possible outcome for all of us. But it’s for sure going to be the outcome if I don’t take this seriously.
I don’t care about being skinny or what size I get down to. That is very nearly true. What I care about is not being decrepit. I care about being able to take care of myself for as many of my years as possible.
So, no more fucking about for me. I have to get my head back into the Rage Your Way Thin days.
Also, I think this might be the goodbye I needed to say to my first blog.