Last we spoke was Wednesday, at some point in the afternoon.
I tragically made the mistake of forgetting my oranges for lunch. In fact, I was starving when I left for home. Compound that with the fact that I was in the midst of what I might call a defeatist hour (hate my job, hate my life, nothing makes me happy, not fair to the kids, not fair to the wife, eat when I'm stressed, stressed beyond belief, will never get out, why does God do this, it's all a vicious cycle, I'm going to die of a heart attack in this wretched shithole before I'm 35, etc) and I lost. Two hot dogs on the way home, along with a Diet Dr. Pepper, although I'm not really concerned about the DDP so much. I'm sure there is much worse.
After an inspired 10 minute profanity filled rant of epic proportions, punching my steering wheel, nearly causing an accident on the Road to Nowhere and some tears (at this point, I've got nothing to hide. Who cares?), I finally got home. Made a full confession vis a vis the wife about stopping for food on the way home, and I actually felt better about it. It was like a big secret I was keeping, although one look at online banking would have popped the secrecy balloon.
Grilled cheese for dinner, made by the wife, with a bunch of water and stuff. Also, my daughter kept waking up, and I finally got to bed around 2:40 in the a.m.
1/5/2012
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Needed to take the day off, for a multitude of reasons, chief among them Baby Girl's appointment at the doctor. Coffee for breakfast. Lunch was courtesty of Wawa, and having had to wait until after the appointment, with nothing in my stomach, I was hungry something fierce. Lunch was a small BLT sammich on white bread (seriously, what the fuck, it looked like a plastic food toy Nick has for his kitchen) and a roast beef'n swiss ciabatta sammich. Accompanied by something harvest sun chips. Cheddar Harvest? Garden Harvest, something like that.
Now, I realize that sounds like alot for lunch, and I'm sure it is. But as I've said a few times, I'm gradually trying to eat less and less. Just not eating anymore doesn't work, and sorry to all the Ethiopians out there as I'm sure it works for you, but I'm not in fuckin' Ethiopia, or anywhere in Asia or Africa. I'm in middle America, with 2 kids and a minivan. Clearly, the rigors of life, which are more mentally taxing then physically, call for a more moderate approach.
The thing is, I lost a good 20 pounds in the summer by doing nothing more than packing my lunch and drinking an ass load of water, along with running around like an idiot during the first two weeks of camp in the football season. I ascribe to the 21 days makes a habit theory, and it wasn't long before eating a moderate amount had shown results, and I was eating at a somewhat human level.
So it stands to reason, then, that two small sammiches for lunch, a couple liters of water and cheesesteak for dinner, while not exactly the type of shit you eat when training for a marathon, is a modicum of improvement. I don't feel too bad about that.
It's the extra slice of pizza I ordered to go while waiting for the cheesesteaks to be done. _That_ bothers me.
I am seriously considering buying some 5 hour energy so I can not be dragging ass at night and can go play with my ellyptical for a while.
God help me, I need to do something. I have a goddamn exercise machine, in my basement, paid for by my parents and given for Christmas last year, and I've gone on it maybe 5 times in a year.
God help me. God help me. God help me.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Into the Night
I feel cautiously optimistic. You will probably laugh at this.
After stopping for essentially a chicken dinner from work to home on Monday, I weened down to two hot dogs yesterday afternoon. Having seen my dad try, and fail, to quit smoking on multiple occasions, I know that quitting anything cold turkey usually is a recipe for failure. So I'm cycling down.
I packed extra snack bar type things, and crackers, for the ride home. I'm hoping, and praying, that today is a better day and that I don't want to lose my mind.
For dinner last night, I had pizza and salad, admittedly more pizza than salad though. 4 slices, which is probably one too many. My goal here is not to go on a Tibetan monk hunger strike, but rather to gradually decrease what I'm eating. I also know that I have to work out at some point in time. But here's my problem. We've got what amounts to an ellyptical downstairs that I'd love to use. But by the time I come home, from the unfettered, unbridled, unrelenting, unforgiving insanity and anxiety buffet that I work at, I turn into a parent. With the daughter getting teeth and my son so active, there's no time to decompress myself or even have downtime. Until everyone's in bed, at which time I have to (or attempt to) help the wife clean up, which has become such a bone of contention at home that it's almost arduous, because I so badly want to do it right and have a good ending to the day. However, how I clean up and how my wife cleans up are drastically different, and more often then not we end up fighting about it.
By the time that's all done, I just want to go to sleep. Or sit down and do something mindless like watch TV, play on the internet, get lost in twitter or whatever else. It's an excuse, but not a very good one.
So far today, Carnation's Instant Breakfast (chocolate. eh.), two cups of coffee and some crackers.
After stopping for essentially a chicken dinner from work to home on Monday, I weened down to two hot dogs yesterday afternoon. Having seen my dad try, and fail, to quit smoking on multiple occasions, I know that quitting anything cold turkey usually is a recipe for failure. So I'm cycling down.
I packed extra snack bar type things, and crackers, for the ride home. I'm hoping, and praying, that today is a better day and that I don't want to lose my mind.
For dinner last night, I had pizza and salad, admittedly more pizza than salad though. 4 slices, which is probably one too many. My goal here is not to go on a Tibetan monk hunger strike, but rather to gradually decrease what I'm eating. I also know that I have to work out at some point in time. But here's my problem. We've got what amounts to an ellyptical downstairs that I'd love to use. But by the time I come home, from the unfettered, unbridled, unrelenting, unforgiving insanity and anxiety buffet that I work at, I turn into a parent. With the daughter getting teeth and my son so active, there's no time to decompress myself or even have downtime. Until everyone's in bed, at which time I have to (or attempt to) help the wife clean up, which has become such a bone of contention at home that it's almost arduous, because I so badly want to do it right and have a good ending to the day. However, how I clean up and how my wife cleans up are drastically different, and more often then not we end up fighting about it.
By the time that's all done, I just want to go to sleep. Or sit down and do something mindless like watch TV, play on the internet, get lost in twitter or whatever else. It's an excuse, but not a very good one.
So far today, Carnation's Instant Breakfast (chocolate. eh.), two cups of coffee and some crackers.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
So far, so...
Breakfast: Carnation Instant Breakfast. Chocolate. So-so.
Lunch: 2 turkey sandwiches w/ cheese. 1 orange. 2 of them 90 calorie bars. 1 protein meal bar. 1 Diet Dr. Pepper.
Hmmm, maybe I should save the protein meal bar, and bring more of them 90 calorie bars. That would make sense, seeing as how it's a MEAL BAR.
About to eat another orange in about... 20 minutes. The ride home is the hard part.
Lunch: 2 turkey sandwiches w/ cheese. 1 orange. 2 of them 90 calorie bars. 1 protein meal bar. 1 Diet Dr. Pepper.
Hmmm, maybe I should save the protein meal bar, and bring more of them 90 calorie bars. That would make sense, seeing as how it's a MEAL BAR.
About to eat another orange in about... 20 minutes. The ride home is the hard part.
A Cheeseburger And A Smile
My job is stressful. I teach in the inner city, at a middle school in the middle of a gang hotspot, where it's nothing to see pregnant sixth graders, tattoo'd kids, drugs, knives and the occasional gun. Last year I broke up a fight, got hit in the head by an inadvertant fist and ended up with major ear drum swelling and what they thought might be brain damage.
Turns out I'm just a moron naturally.
Point being, I'm 6'0, 300 something, and I got mollywhopped without a moment's hesitation. It's fuckin' nuts.
As you can imagine, being a fat white man in the midst of an almost Caucasian-less society, I'm an outsider. So are the rest of the other Caucasian teachers, regardless of whether they have a spare tire. Or spare tire shop, as it were.
The stress that comes with working here is absolutely out of this world. Nary a day goes by where I can go home and say, "I had a good day." This is my fifth year here, and I can count good days on two hands, honestly. I am desperately, desperately, hoping to get hired somewhere else, hopefully in conjunction with coaching. But, as my Mom has so helpfully pointed out a million times, you need to look good in your suit to make a good impression. Because I've never heard that before ever. From anyone ever.
The problem is that when I'm stressed out, I eat. And every day could probably make a case for my worst day at work, ever. Especially this year. One of the few things in life that makes me happy right now, instantaneously, is getting a Baconator from Wendy's and gnawing the shit out of that thing, and then washing it down with a Diet Coke. Fuck you, I like the taste of Diet Coke. Regular coke is too syrupy.
But my short term happiness, ie a burger, is in direct contrast to my long term happiness of not having a heart attack and dying in this rat infested shithole.
Turns out I'm just a moron naturally.
Point being, I'm 6'0, 300 something, and I got mollywhopped without a moment's hesitation. It's fuckin' nuts.
As you can imagine, being a fat white man in the midst of an almost Caucasian-less society, I'm an outsider. So are the rest of the other Caucasian teachers, regardless of whether they have a spare tire. Or spare tire shop, as it were.
The stress that comes with working here is absolutely out of this world. Nary a day goes by where I can go home and say, "I had a good day." This is my fifth year here, and I can count good days on two hands, honestly. I am desperately, desperately, hoping to get hired somewhere else, hopefully in conjunction with coaching. But, as my Mom has so helpfully pointed out a million times, you need to look good in your suit to make a good impression. Because I've never heard that before ever. From anyone ever.
The problem is that when I'm stressed out, I eat. And every day could probably make a case for my worst day at work, ever. Especially this year. One of the few things in life that makes me happy right now, instantaneously, is getting a Baconator from Wendy's and gnawing the shit out of that thing, and then washing it down with a Diet Coke. Fuck you, I like the taste of Diet Coke. Regular coke is too syrupy.
But my short term happiness, ie a burger, is in direct contrast to my long term happiness of not having a heart attack and dying in this rat infested shithole.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Mission statement
I turn 30 on November 10, 2012. I have a wife and two kids. I teach English and coach high school football. As a teen/young adult, I was thick and muscular, but never cut. That's given way to obese and uncomfortable, unable to wear regular clothes, unable to ever look good. I've always sweated a lot, but now it's gotten to the point where I sweat from texting. I want to live, I want to advance, I want to make my family proud. Most importantly, I want to wear cool clothes and feel good about myself and be able to tuck my shirt in without it coming back out five seconds later. I'm sick of having my waistline having the indentations of my belt. So this is a food diary slash outlet for my concerns, and general bitching rag. Also, I had a really bitchin' blog in college. Maybe this will be a regenerative experience.
The wife and I made our New Years Resolutions list yesterday. I already broke one. At least maybe if I can be honest on here with myself and my eating habits, I can shame myself into not stopping for second lunch everyday.
I packed my lunch, took two sandwiches, an orange, and a couple breakfast bars. The sandwiches were okay, although the ham from Redners was one of those deals where I just thought about something else and forgot I was eating because it just didn't sit right with me.
Lunch was good, drank my liter of water. Had a Carnation's Instant Breakfast (strawberry, blech) this morning along with my customary two cups of coffee blitz.
I was feeling good about everything. Then I got hungry driving home and found myself ordering a chicken sammich from Popeye's. What the fucking fuck. I have a sick feeling in my stomach, but not from the food. I think it's a psychosomatic thing. Fucking fuck fuck fuck.
Start a new day tomorrow.
The wife and I made our New Years Resolutions list yesterday. I already broke one. At least maybe if I can be honest on here with myself and my eating habits, I can shame myself into not stopping for second lunch everyday.
I packed my lunch, took two sandwiches, an orange, and a couple breakfast bars. The sandwiches were okay, although the ham from Redners was one of those deals where I just thought about something else and forgot I was eating because it just didn't sit right with me.
Lunch was good, drank my liter of water. Had a Carnation's Instant Breakfast (strawberry, blech) this morning along with my customary two cups of coffee blitz.
I was feeling good about everything. Then I got hungry driving home and found myself ordering a chicken sammich from Popeye's. What the fucking fuck. I have a sick feeling in my stomach, but not from the food. I think it's a psychosomatic thing. Fucking fuck fuck fuck.
Start a new day tomorrow.
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