Which is probably why I hate them so much. Also, I hate how they can simultaneously stack, conflict, draw focus, weigh a ton, distract, dove-tail, and of course, meld.
Hubs went in for another surgery yesterday. He is out and doing ok, all things permitted. That makes 3 surgeries in 18 months, if I remember correctly. He should be pro by now. I only worry because every time he goes in, he ends up hitting the ER at least three times after he comes home. Usually in the first couple weeks. Also, we thought he was doing really well last time and had made progress. Turns out, nope, not so much. Doc fused some of his foot-bones together, hoping it would make him stable enough to walk. He was recovering well and the fuse was holding, and it did make his foot more stable, but somehow he still carries the weight on the outside of his foot.
This means that for some reason, he needs another surgery to fuse other bones? I don’t really understand how that’s going to help, but that’s because I wasn’t there to listen to the doctor this time. He’s back on painkillers, recovering at home. His mom should be up in a few days to help him out. I don’t look forward to the recovery… he had just starting getting out and about alternating crutches and cane. Now we have to go through it all again.
But everything today was compounded by a realization. And here is my attempt to track my train of thought, which tends to jumble and ramble and double-back in on itself. I was logging my recent workouts in a more logical way—a spreadsheet! Oh god do I love spreadsheets—when I realized that I have about two weeks left to lose the last two inches. Now of course logically I knew this. And in fact, I have lost roughly an inch in roughly the last week. Mentally, sure I could look at a calendar and see, “yes, that is roughly fourteen days until weigh ins”… but something about the way it clicked in my head was terrifying and depressing. The voice saying, “jfc, you’ll never manage to do it. You should just give up.” But you see, if I give up now, it’ll be just like everything else I’ve ever [not] done. Stubbornly tough it out until it’s too close to back out, and then give up at the last minute, causing me to fail. I never see things through [okay except maybe college as a whole]. I say dismissively, “well, I don’t want to starve myself!” and “well, I don’t want to work out!” but really, if this shit goes down and I don’t make it… well, skip back to last paragraph and recall that hubs just had surgery. I’ve been working my ass off with minimal results. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I can handle the fact that I weigh almost to the pound what I did when we left WA. That’s not a big deal for me. But thinking about what I’m gonna have to do, what crazy lengths I’m going to have to endure, to make it these next two weeks… to stay in, to be surrounded by people I hate and disrespect, and who treat me like I’m an idiot… but, if I don’t… but it would be SO much easier to come home. Oh god, I would love to. I’m afraid I wouldn’t get a job though. But, if I don’t… how does hubs keep seeing doctors? How do we get by? The thought of mailing home my stuff… conflicting emotions.
I guess put bluntly, I’m tired of waiting to see what’s going to happen. I know it’s all on me. It’s my problem and I have to figure it out. Now, do I continue sitting here eating everything in sight because I feel bad for myself? No, I shouldn’t. Guess I just wanted one last hurrah. But how does spending two hours a day in the gym NOT pay off?! I have feeling discouraged. Discouraged makes me want to give up. Giving up is what makes me fail. constantly failing is what makes me feel discouraged. I wish I could fast-forward to Nov. 13. I also wish I could suck some of the fat out of my butt and put it in my boobs, or redistribute it to my poor butt-less girlfriends. But anyways. None of that is possible.
It’s a good thing they issued us these wonderful giant straws in bootcamp, so we can SUCK IT UP. [tee hee, also, it’s in the cow’s butt! So I made a double entendre.]