Category Archives: life

The Spin Instructor

I’ve recently decided to go to spin classes as an alternate form of exercise and except for causing a sore vag from the seat – I have to admit that its pretty ok. (I’m not sorry for admitting that. My vagina is a tender beast)

Last night, I have to admit I developed a mild crush on my instructor for to reasons:

1. His playlist was fire (delicious South African beats, Lady Gaga, Whitney, a remake of “You don’t own me” and ABBA).

2. He vogued and made us boogie on our bikes. He probably could have said “TWERK BITCH,” and I would have tried.

The majority of the class did not have as much fun as I did. I will cop to getting down on my bike and singing really, really loudly. Also, sweating like it was my damn job.

I have pretty intense anxiety sometimes and doing things with my body publicly is more likely to send me spiraling into panic than be fun. However, this time around I felt good and for one hour I stopped caring so much.

I almost asked for his playlist, but that was a bridge too far last night. All in all it was a great 60 minutes.

Until I got home and realized that I left the hose on refilling the pool and almost flooded the yard a smidge. Oops.

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Am I sitting in a recliner on my husband’s patio?

Yes.

Was the recliner always there? No, I just moved it because patio chairs are universally uncomfortable and I want to be comfy as fuck right now.

Am I wearing storm trooper socks? Yes. They are at target in case anyone is interested.

This is heavenly.

Today is Friday and I am in South Africa with my dogs and hot husband. Well, he’s at work. In any other time and place during my adult life, I would have been working. I’m actually mildly petrified about not working. Not working leaves a whole lot of time for me to think, which means I am really good at it in the worst way possible.

You may be asking yourself, “Well, why don’t you work?” The answer, as with all things in my life, is complicated. I am taking some extended leave and going back to my other job every sixty days. Teleworking wasn’t an option and being apart from hot husband was probably going to give one of us a nervous breakdown (by one of us, I think we can all agree, I mean me). I love working, but I wasn’t happy and we are financially stable enough to afford this situation temporarily.

I am probably on the cusp of taking a two year leave of absence because hoorah, marine corps. Part of me has a sinking feeling about this, but the other part thinks that maybe it’s time for some changes. Or something different. Maybe its time to do the things I want to do. All those things I put off or didn’t do because I was focused on work.

So, I made a list and I’m going to do the things I want to do. Except go shopping because let’s face it I have a minor obsession with clothes and shoes. And stuff.

Sometimes it’s not even big stuff. It’s just putting the recliner on the patio because I can. Or insert any other thing you want to do here. Write. Photograph. Go see things. Eat good food. Have fun.

I know this is coming from a place of privilege. I know many people do not have this option. I am lucky. I also need some time to figure out who I want to be when I grow up separate from the ideas of others.

#yolo

I tried to cure my perpetual anxiety with hot yoga and I almost died

Also, I know that anxiety isn’t particularly curable, but let’s just pretend.

If you have ever woken up with an invisible body sitting on your chest, then you know that you will spend an innumerable amount of time TRYING TO GET THAT FUCKER OFF YOU.

So, I decided to go to hot yoga for the first time since 2013. I remember the heat being great for pretending that I was sweating out my feelings and stuff.

And breathing. Zen. All that good shit, right? I went to the class in shorts surrounded by posh yoginis and their obligatory yoga gear. I took off my shirt because I didnt want to spend the class fighting with it falling over my head because it was too big and I suck at being prepared.

Everything started out fine. I couldn’t really breathe. My chest hurt. But it was fine.

Then I started sweating like I was in the goddamn desert in a parka. I had to go to the bathroom to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. I had no grip on my mat BECAUSE WHY WOULDN’T I REMEMBER TO BRING A TOWEL SO THAT I WOULDN’T SWIMMING THROUGH A POOL OF SWEAT. That’s right. I was swimming in sweat. The teacher had to get me a towel because I was fucking up her class with my ineptitude.

Then when I finally could grip my mat. I couldn’t see straight anymore and was pretty close to vomiting. You know that feeling when you haven’t had caffeine and your body is raging against you because HELLO ADDICTION. No? Well, ok. My stomach was violently close to expelling acid because I didn’t eat.

So. I walked out 50 minutes in to a 90 minute class. I left my mat (I am sorry I knoe its bad form) and walked to the grocery store to get something to stop me from fainting. And, I am ok with that.

There was a time I would have kept going and made myself sick, but you know what? It’s not worth it.

Sometimes quitting is ok. It’s really not necessary to go full excorist vomit in a yoga class I paid for.

I spent the rest of the day with the heaviness in my chest until I started arguing about current events with hot husband. Go figure.

Two Truths and a Lie

It seems like an ongoing theme in my life that the truth isn’t really that important to other people. But, it’s important to me.

Some of the most shitty parts of my life vice getting slapped in the head with a metal pole and the violent depression that followed revolves around lies.

I’m not sure what it is about the difference between honesty and dishonesty that makes me feel unhinged but there’s nothing like a well timed lie and the eventual discovery to break my sanity into a million pieces.

I go through the seven stages of grief every single time like it won’t happen again.

And spoiler alert, it always happens again. I’m not sure why I never see it coming because its like a bullet train that’s about to hit me in the face.

Good therapy will tell you that people don’t change and the only person you can control is yourself. But, people don’t change, right? So, what the shit am I supposed to do when faced with this existential crisis again?

If I’m honest, this has been a problem with all the guys I dated except one. That one, to my knowledge, was unfledgingly honest and at that particular age I was too clingy.

A few years ago, I thought I worked really hard not to be clingy and insecure but then I found out about internet sexting and how that can ruin ones self esteem. I won’t tell you all is well and that it never creeps up on me like my period exploding at 4 am. It does and it hurts almost as much as the first time I was cheated on physically.

It must be me, right? I’m hard to be honest with. I don’t have good reactions to the truth. As another former lover would say “you didn’t want me to do xyz anyway so I didn’t tell you the truth.” This person was right. I didn’t want xyz to happen. And then it did. Over and over again.

Does anyone ever check up on old lies like they are friends? Is that just me? If we are trying to delve deep in my psyche, I guess I like hurting myself. I try not to sit around and do this because its bad for my mental health and the words obsessive and “stalker” get thrown around but I’m tired of hiding the fact that this hurts. And, lets be honest. Y’all do it too.

So, it hurts. It makes me feel unhinged. It may be dramatic and seem petty, but you know what?

I have a lot of fucking feelings and a lot of faults. And the shit that hurts the most is never going away, so all that’s left is to put my brain back together and keep trucking.

Because there is one thing I know for a fact. My life isn’t ever going to get easier. I just have to deal with the hard punches as they come and keep getting up. Eventually, I will get stronger or I will die.