Tag Archives | feeling mental

What Direction?

For better or worse, I was on a bit of a roll with posting. Then I didn’t for a few days; now I don’t know where to begin. Shit.

From what I can remember, I’ve been balls deep into watching my food intake and working out every single blessed goddamn day like I’m an Olympian as I try to lose the weight that so cleverly attached itself to me via years of being on the antidepressant hamster wheel. 

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Exclamation Point!

There has been no ride since my last ride. That’s a bummer, but I’ve tried to keep moving with six nine miles of Dreadmill lumbering over the past two three days. Me walking/jogging on a treadmill is not exactly blog-worthy1, but as I so often say here on these ill-written digital pages of digital suck, “yet here we are.”

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Day One Again

It’s become clear to me, via my bathroom scale, that my self-imposed extended layoff from riding has not helped (in ANY way whatsoever) my attempt at getting back to being a “husky” man who is a whisker under being morbidly obese. No offense to my fellow “husky” and “morbidly obese” friends and neighbors. “For there are many,” sayeth Luke. Luke, the dude that hangs out at the skatepark, not Luke of the Bible book.

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Still No Mojo

Note: This post may or may not sound like I’m a six-pack of beer and a 5 gallon-sized bag of weed into the weekend, but I assure you it’s only fueled by coffee, too much time on my hands, and cold rain pelting against my office window. 

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Heavy Sighs & Returns

Well, we’re back from Indiana, and I’m hitting the ground running like a freshly excreted dog turd onto a frosty spring lawn.

The four-day trip into America’s heartland of COVID negligence for a soccer tournament was better than I thought (in that it happened at all) and just as bad as I thought (aforementioned negligence, combined with COVID fuckedupedness and guilt).

I’ll explain a bit.

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The Chronicles of Meh

My newfound custom of getting up early continued on Sunday, and with that, I got a shit ton of stuff done, including baking some crispy, crunchy toasted homemade muffin bread and installing an Ortleib bag bracket on the Fattishson (The Roscoe’s current name before it becomes a 29er in the future). 

Then I decided to ride.

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Mindbender and Me

MINDBENDER II (THE WRATH OF KHAN)1

“Here, take this. It’s a mixture of horse placenta, baby spit, and the toenail of a sodomized goat, manufactured in the basement of a New Jersey pharmaceutical company/suburban home.”

ME

“Will it slow my metabolism down even further and cause me to gain even more weight like all the other shit has?”

MINDBENDER II (THE WRATH OF KHAN)

“No, no, it was weight neutral in trials; it will just help with your want to leave the house. And who knows, it might even get you back on your bike or in the woods with your camera. Trade: Phenodihydrochloride benzelex. Street: The embalmer”

ME

“Balls. I’ll swallow it and run a mile.”

Me grabs handful of colorful pills and shoves them down his throat.

MINDBENDER II (THE WRATH OF KHAN)

“Not those pills, THESE pills, those are my M&Ms, you stupid nipple. By the way, you still owe your $30 copay from our last session.”

Me proceeds to write a check with milk chocolate—now freed from its hard, colorful candy shell— smeared across his chubby face.

ME

“What’s today’s date again?”2

— SCENE —

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Blinded by The Light

“Blinded by the light,
Woke up like a douche1 in the middle of the night.”

— Blinded by The Light, by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band

After days, nay weeks, of being a morbidly obese, mentally drained housebound hermit, I ventured out into the world on Friday morning for a snowshoe at the Forest Hill Nature Area. Hooray for being a functioning adult.

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Winter Continues

There’s really nothing like waking up to a fresh February snowstorm. Coffee tastes a bit better, breakfast is just a little more relaxing, and the urge to angrily shit on the floor like a caged ape and throw it at the first person that walks in front of the house is just a tad more indomitable.

If you think that throwing feecus is adjectivally extreme, just be glad I didn’t venture into the messy masturbatory world of caged primates and/or their evolutionary cousin, the overweight housebound adult male human in winter hibernation mode, AKA Auto-erotic-hibernation.1

That was probably more weather-inspired poo and goo talk than you or anyone other than me wanted. I digress.

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