Sometimes I just totally hate my life. I don’t like my house (although I’m grateful to have one), my job wears me out, I can’t connect with people, and I don’t find the world to be a very interesting place anymore. I don’t believe I am inherently likeable; in fact, I think that even people who give me the benefit of the doubt find that the charm wears off rather quickly, and then they have to back-peddle to so they don’t get too entrenched. I have become a surface person.
Don’t ask me how I came to this conclusion. I mean, I’ve been here before. This started with me trying to talk myself into exercising. I dislike that idea so much that I get almost overcome with a feeling of resentment and rage every time I think about it. I resent doing things I loathe. It’s not like I haven’t tried to find an enjoyable form of exercise. Let’s see…walking, running, biking to work, biking around, mountain biking, hiking (which is just walking, but with more hills and no decent sidewalks), skiing, snowshoeing, swimming, volleyball, aerobics, aqua-aerobics, strength training with weights, Body Pump, yoga, kick boxing, step, machines, isometrics, anything a personal trainer can come up with, countless grueling hours on the elliptical trainer and Concept 2 rower, FitBall, Dance Dance Revolution, and of course, Pilates.I wonder how many total hours I have spent overtly exercising. That leaves out things like home improvement, taking the stairs, gardening, etc. For the first nine years I lived in Denver, it was normal for me to spend 15-20 hours per week working out at the YMCA. I hated every minute of it. Sometimes I would just break down and cry in the middle of a workout. It’s not like I went in with a negative, you-can’t-change-my-mind attitude. It was quite the contrary. My attitude was more like, “I’m desperate to find something that I can tolerate for sustained periods of time. Something that will show results in weight loss and body size. Please.”
Do you know why I hate to exercise? It isn’t an attitude problem at all. It’s this:
- I hate pain. All exercise demands a significant degree of physical discomfort if it is to be effective;
- I hate to be hot. My skin does not tolerate sweat very well.
- All exercise that I have tried has been mind-numbing in its tediousness . Nothing bores me faster, with the exception of sports on television, particularly football, basketball, and golf.
The argument for exercising anyway for the sake of good health is not lost on me. You know, however, that health is not a carrot I try to grasp; I just want the ectomorphism that has always been promised but never achieved. I am too frustrated to put in the effort for something that is never going to happen. That’s where the resentment comes in. I don’t see the point of putting in so much effort and experiencing so much pain and boredom for what amounts to nothing more than a year or two tacked onto my life. If I even make it to old age.
So, after having all of that roll around in my head all week, I realized that I’m just too negative, lazy, and superficial for anyone to care much about me, let alone like me or want to spend time with me.
Yes, yes, I know, Jolie. You like me. My husband might like me. Joanna probably likes me, but I haven’t heard from her in at least six weeks, and that’s happening with increasing frequency, and it’s becoming harder and harder for me to believe I hold any significance in her life anymore. So, that leaves two people who like me. One lives far away and doesn’t spend enough time with me to really know how irritating I actually am. The other one is too busy doing home improvement projects, watching TV, and spending time with the dog to give me a true indication of whether or not he actually likes me.
I know we shouldn’t care if people like us or not. I’m not sure that I do care. I just want to be thin and to have a good haircut. I’m pretty sure that more people will like me then.
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