2011 has been somewhat of a horror movie so far. Anything that can go wrong, has.
My humor, which is my saving grace when I’m stressed, has taken a beating of epic proportions. I am finding it hard to even crack a smile.
Work has not let up. I am panicking at the thought of having to stay in my current role. It’s a long story, but let me net it out for you… I pursued a dream job in my current company that I *almost* received, only for it to fall through. I did this after I refused to interview for a promotion in my current area that would have been a done deal. I made a leap into the unknown, brave at the time, and the joke was on me. I’m now stuck in a job with a scarlet letter on my chest… and no new job in sight to free me of the bridges I inadvertently burned. Professionally burned, mind you, but damaged nonetheless.
Meanwhile, S. Is having his own woes, and there’s little I can do. I can’t even get into it. It makes me cry.
The stress in our house is reaching maximum overload. Stress makes me sleep. And eat. And mutter one word phrases and unidentifiable sounds.
Much like a zombie without the blood and guts.
In an effort to regain some semblance of order, I decided to do what I do best… find control… somewhere. For the 1874627th time I embarked on a new
diet lifestyle change. The diet is a no-brainer, but I am continually befuddled at my inability to create any lasting exercise routine. Last week I met with my personal trainer, Bob Harper. Yes, from that TV show. Did I mention he came in a box?
I had high hopes opening my new BL Challenge game for the Wii (a Christmas gift from me to me). I booted that bad boy up and my mad exercising skillz were put to the test.
I am an oaf, it seems. Bob booted me from his test and suggested I take a remedial course on learning to breathe before entering his world. Then I attempted to set up a profile and come back the next day to beg Bob to train me. Turns out I needed a fabric tape measure to record the size of my neck and my insanely large hips. among other things. And I don’t own a fabric tape measure. Who owns a fabric tape measure?? Heck, I’m lucky I even own a scale that hasn’t reached the garbage can. Why don’t they include a freaking paper tape measure in the box? I mean, really… Is that too much to ask?? A slip of paper????
Further demoralizing, my weight flashed on the screen mocking me. And then I sat down on my Wii board and cried. Bob did not even console me because my screen was locked AND I didn’t have a tape measure. I turned off the game and bitched and moaned for an hour.
The week has gone downhill ever since. And… I am pretty sure that I have broken up with Bob.
I have control of nothing in life.
Not one thing.