Depression, redux

It occurred to me not too long ago that the reason I was on the freaky no wheat or corn or tomato diet was that I felt a lot better after I tried it. Among the benefits for me were decreased mental fog, greater energy, and elevated mood.

I noticed that if I, for example, had a pizza, the next day I'd have low mental clarity, depressed mood, no motivation, and zero energy.

The BBQ diet

82.0 kg this morning. I’m bloated like a piece of Microsoft code.

Woo! Time to go have a barbeque and eat lotsa fat snacks. At the very least it’ll be me and Erik. It’s a beautiful day over here and it’s bound to be even nicer over there. I’m still going to bring a couple movies, if for no other reason as a superstitious gesture to prevent rain.

Bummer!

I'm supposed to be having a birthday barbeque for myself on Sunday, but like every other event I've ever planned, I haven't bothered inviting anyone because I'm too depressed. It's not actually my birthday, but since my birthday is near Christmas it's hard to find people around then. Sunday is 33-and-a-third for me, four months after December 27th.

It seems kinda too late to start inviting people, but hopefullt I can find a person or two who can show up.

Life's Work Center

80.8kg this morning, but here I am cheating again because this is the first time I've weighed myself in the morning, when I'm naturally lighter. Nevertheless, I continue forging ahead. I plan to make it to the gym tonight.

I'm skipping my Life's Work Center session today. I'm filled with fear that I'm fucking up my work for another client. What's messed up is that what I want to do is not fire away kicking ass at my to-do-list until I'm ahead of the game. What I want to do is pull the covers back over my head and go back to sleep.

Status

Just back from the gym. It is a beautiful day out there. And I have an opportunity to look at the realism of my starting points.

I didn't have a spotter with me, so I had a little reservation on the bench about pushing things too hard, and I didn't always bring the bar all the way down. That said, I did six reps at 115 pounds and five reps at 125 pounds. So I fall a bit short of my earlier assessment of being able to do eight reps at 120, but I'm probably not so far off that I should refigure my goals. We'll just see how it goes.

OK, fuck it. I need goals

I hate making goals because then I might fail at them. Well, tough shit. As SuperSleuth says, "I'm not afraid to be a failure." Well, I am afraid to be a failure, but I guess I can "act as if" for a few minutes to document some goals. If I'm gonna screw up, I may as well do it in front of everyone else and not try to pretend that things are going according to plan.

So, by the time Burning Man rolls around, I want to weigh 70 kilos and be able to benchpress my own weight in sets of eight.

My Weakness, My Worst Friend

20 minutes on the treadmill, a simulated 2 miles covered in that time. Not great, but at least I'm getting in there and fighting the downward spiral back to butterball country. I've been holding at about 80 kilos for a while now, but that number is deceiving because I've been gaining fat and losing muscle pretty steadily for about a year and a half now. I don't have the strength or vitality I did even a year ago and I'm visibly fatter than I was six months ago.

The way home

The airport shuttle woke me up this morning--not a good thing when you aren't already all packed. My alarm went off at 6:45 and I don't remember a thing again until 8:10. Fortunately, I only packed for one day and had lots of room in my bag. I dragged on my pants and shoes and stuffed everything else in my bag and went. The driver covered for me by saying that he was early, but it would have been the same if he had been on time.

Have I forgotten?

I'm in the airport shuttle somewhere in Washington State between SeaTac and Evergreen. I haven't seen this many rusted out cars in the front yards of trailers since I was in the Carolinas.

The shuttle driver has the radio on the country station. (Yes, Hammerhead, I remember. The driver chooses!) It illustrates some pretty profound culture shock that in just a couple hours I've gone from a place where they're playing War Pigs on the radio station to a place where they play clips of GWB in between the songs.

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