This has been a bad week for me. It wasn’t a, “OMG, a monster truck just parked itself on top of my Prius” type of bad. But it did feel like a “I got this rain cloud hanging over my head, and according to the forecast , it won’t be clearing up any time soon” type of bad. It’s as if I got off on the wrong side of the bed last Sunday and the rest of my days were cursed for it. My brain feels like it’s made of mushy porridge. It is taking me forever to write a coherent sentence. I am almost convinced that the world is conspiring against me and that every person I came in contact with as of late, was ordered by Jay-Z and the rest of his Illuminati cronies, to irritate me to the point of madness.
I have experienced this underwhelming feeling enough to know that it is all my brain’s handiwork. Folks are irritating me because I am just irritable. I’m not feeling so hot, because the neurotransmitters up in my noggin just aren’t firing up they way I need them too. I’m doing my best to police the way I interact with others. I have a tendency of being a bit short tempered during these figuratively cloudy days. But God All Mighty, it sure as hell feels really hard to do right now. If I could find a big enough rock to crawl under for a week or two, I would. Just because I rather avoid any misunderstandings. Off course I don’t have that luxury. I gotta go out and earn my daily bread. I have student loans to pay off, mortgage payments to be a slave too, and enough debt to sink a continent.
I wish I wasn’t as big as a mountain, and descended from a long line of addicts. If not, I would be more than O.K. with taking Aderall, and Prozac or whatever happy pills they give folks like me these days. Sadly that stuff isn’t really an option for me. Reason being that those drugs tend to be highly addictive. And I probably would start popping them like Tic-Tac’s. And if that didn’t get me, the increased blood pressure that comes with taking the medication would probably cause my cholesterol clogged heart to explode.
Perhaps it’s time for me to start working out again. When I was lifting weights regularly over a year ago, these gloomy days didn’t seem to stick around as long as they do now. My fat ass misses being winded on a regular basis. There was something almost spiritual about a good workout. I loved the clarity that it brought me. That Zen like, groovy peace that came over me. The other nice perk was that even if I just planted myself in front of the TV for the rest of the day after a workout, and did nothing else, the day never felt like it had been wasted. One hour of productivity in a 24 hour span made me feel like a winner. Very few things in life can do that for me. Working out also brought a level of confidence that I dug a heck-of-a-lot.. I was still fat. Very, very, very fat. But I was also stronger, nimbler and my stamina was much improved. Also, all those squats and leg presses were helping me develop that underdeveloped, droopy ass of mine.
Naturally, every positive must have it’s negatives. The more I lifted the more my joints began to hurt. Then came the muscle strains and the steady aching. I also wasn’t getting enough sleep too, so my recovery time was taking a big hit. Then there was the cash I was burning through buying protein shakes. But despite all that, I really took to weight-lifting like a fanboy to hot female cosplay pics. Maybe if I had stuck with it, I might have ended up looking like E. Honda of Street Fighter II fame. I think that would be a good look on me.
As much as I loved my new found appreciation for an active lifestyle, I was forced to quit the gym. An opportunity presented itself to buy our very first home. The market had bottomed out. The interest rates were low, and the home prices were at a bargain. I needed a major influx in cash for a down payment, so I stopped going to the gym and spent several months working as many hours as it was legally allowed for me to do in the office. In the end, we bought our little home, but I lost my drive to workout.
After we moved into our new place, I bought some weights and a bench, hoping to pick up where I had left off. But for some reason I couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm. Maybe it was the limited equipment that I have to work with. Perhaps it was that there were no women in form fitting spandex to try to show off too. Whatever it is that was missing, I have yet to find it.
I gotta’ get myself going again. All that physical activity gets the neural transmitters firing on all cylinders. Dopamine, nerepinephrine and seretonin levels go up, causing the dark clouds hanging over my heads to move on. I just hope that there is enough fuel in the tank to get me going again.