Paradise

I got an overwhelmingly positive response to my last post. Thanks gang. I don't know what resonates so well with you people, but I'll stay at this party as long as you'll have me. Seriously though, if I'm sitting in the corner way past my welcome and it's time to go to bed, please by all means let me know. I don't want to have to introduce an Oliver to keep you interested.

Now that I've started this blog again, I feel it's necessary to update it with workouts and food. I've been at a family function this week, so I'm not going to tell you specifically what I've been eating. In short: fat, fat, sugar, fat, sugar, sugar, fat.

For activity, I took a walk yesterday and today along a road I used to run, so they were bittersweet outings. With the whole bulging herniated ruptured whatever in my neck (MRI scheduled for Wednesday, stay tuned for a Valium-riddled freakout post next week), I can't really do anything. But walking feels just right. I'm still an advocate for walking things off. I mean, the past few days, I've been uncomfortable--mostly because I wore heels and stood for the most the day like a total jackass--but today I feel pretty good. I'm not planning any cartwheels, but a walk? Yeah. Sure. That's nice.

And as I waxed rhapsodic during my walks about the lovely weather and the view and my life, I started thinking. When I was in college, I read Dante's Divine Comedy for a class and I remember so distinctly the interesting conversations about Inferno--the nine circles of hell and the poor suicidals who were turned into thorny bushes and eaten by harpies, which seemed so severe compared to the lusties who merely blew around in the breeze, all of which confirmed for me that a one-night stand to chase away the blues is way better than jumping off a bridge, at least in the eyes of Dante's god.

But, I can't remember a single thing about Paradise. Nothing.

Happiness, albeit great for the soul (and the blood pressure), is terribly boring and really not that memorable. While I was walking, I was reminded yet again of how fortunate I am. I live in a beautiful part of the country and have access to beautiful areas of this beautiful part of the country. Overall, happy. And, overall decidedly boring. I have nothing to write about since most of my words grow from anxiety.

I'll work on my angst tonight. For now, here is what I looked at while walking. I want to punch myself in the face.

Battle of a different bulge*

I had a conversation last night with someone who asked me why I haven't updated my blog in a really long time.

When you get right down to it, I got bored. I had achieved my goal of gaining back the strength I had lost, so this was turning into a self-musing bellybutton-gazing lifestyle blog and I just don't want to be one of those people who has that kind of lifestyle blog. (Oh, I just Googled "bad lifestyle blog" so I could search for and link a really bad blog here, which is mean-spirited and I won't do it, but now I realize all the blogs I clicked see that they came up in a Google search about bad blogs.)

More importantly, though, I somehow hurt my back early this summer so I'm at square one. And, to top it all off, my blood pressure is up and my cholesterol is really bad. Yesterday, as I was wandering the aisles of Wal*Mart searching for AAA batteries for a new blood pressure cuff, I had a moment of clarity. I have fallen off the wagon. Hard.

So, let's get this started again.

I'll start with the bulge. A disc in my neck has decided to have a walkabout and visit the neighbors. The neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Nerve, are super excited to have company and have sent invitations to their extended family, the Ulnars, who live in my arm. It's a freakin' house party in here. I have an MRI on the horizon so we can do a little spying on the shenanigans. Sounds like the disc may have ruptured, which was described to me in terms of jelly doughnuts but oh my god I'd really prefer to stick to the party metaphor. This clip seems to fit pretty well and remains in keeping with a rupture. Not be confused with the rapture.

I'm hopeful the doctors can make the bulge or rapture go away with super special fast-acting medicines. I don't mind the neck pain--it really isn't that bad--but I am terrible when I have to deal with the threat of pain (I'd sing like a canary if I were pulled into an interrogation) and I've lost sensation and movement in my left thumb so holding a pen and holding a fork are getting slightly challenging. Until I know what's going on, I've been remaining firmly seated on my rapidly spreading buttocks, which rests just below my quickly expanding (or bulging, if you will) midsection. I haven't done shit to work out or get exercise or even to get my blood flowing. All the work I put into my health--admittedly, not a lot of work but it was work nonetheless--gone.

In three months I have undone a year's worth of work. Three months. My blood pressure...oh man, it's high like I would imagine Jabba's blood pressure to be. (Fellas, I linked the clip that made you realize you like girls when you were a kid. Gay fellas, I got nothin' for you there. Sorry.)

So, yes, my blood pressure is up. Like, scary high. I know I have a bad case of white coat syndrome--I do try to humanize doctors and nurses and I have friends who are doctors and nurses, but sitting in that little intimate room makes me anxious. And, failing a blood pressure test or getting weighed makes me feel like I've failed personally so I stress about it. And, lord knows, I don't want to change my dietary habits. But, back to my blood pressure. The doctor asked whether I'm under any stress and no. The answer is no. They checked four times and it never went down.

When I returned to the doctor's office yesterday morning to have my pressure checked again, I chose to remain calm by not listening to the news--the whole situation in Syria is seriously freaking me out like Egypt freaks me out like suicide bombers in Baghdad freak me out like the thought of India and Pakistan going to war freaks me out like when a potential selectman in Maine says he wants to "shoot the n*****" when referring to our president (and then uses poor grammar to defend himself) freaks me out like the way gay Russians getting the shit kicked out of them freaks me out like the way we're perilously close to the debt ceiling in the US freaks me out. Needless to say, my BP was up. The nurse suggested I sit back, close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and maybe read a magazine. She would come back in 10 minutes to check it again.

Okay, I thought. I can do that. I breathed in and out slowly. I leaned over to the magazine rack and pulled National Geographic out. On the cover? Cuba. My calming brain jumped into immediate action. Missile crisis embargo armed battleships standoff Syria chemical warfare. ZWIP!

For my injury, I have been instructed not to do anything that causes pressure or strain on my neck or anything "new," such as biking, swimming (unless I simply tread water or do the backstroke), running, boating. Has my summer sucked? Kinda, but whatever. I've had some good laughs while in traction and I haven't had to mow the lawn.

On the plus side, I have a new baseline and new goals. Get my neck in order, bring my blood pressure and cholesterol down, lose the weight I've gained this summer, and hope to christ I don't develop adult onset diabetes. That last one is a joke. Mostly.

I can't promise I won't go into some musings about life and love and fuck-all, but I'm kind of looking forward to writing about the MRI. Did you know I am so claustrophobic I need drugs to get on a plane? This is gonna be fun.

*My friend Callie referred to the struggle with bulging discs as "Battle of the Bulge." Wanted to give credit where credit is due.