Not my First Ride

I'm not without a pang of guilt when I consider posting a spate of personal "ish" when the world is careening on her tilted axis toward inevitable chaos. But Xer that I be - spending my formative years wondering if at any given point I'd be nuked to death, sitting in the car in line at the gas station, eating liver once a week because it was 27c a container - not my first pony, not my first ride. There are two threads holding all this paunch in place today. Accountability, and honesty. In other words: I own all the personal ish. And I really struggle - not because I'm restricted - but because I'm kinda lazy. I'm back to making my own meals daily - as it was when I was younger and I resent it. I resent the restrictions and I resent the investment of time and money it takes to comply. I pay my bills, I do my job, I try to be a decent human. Now this? And here's the real ishy ish. I don't have to do any of it. I could drive through at Taco Bell and chuck all the supplements in the toilet. I could gain back the 20lbs. I could start falling asleep in the middle of the day again. I could puff up like roadkill. Or I could keep on hammering this rock until the health issues that will kill me slowly if left untreated fall like so much dust at my feet. And then I can kill the next monster. I'm sure I'm still going to vent but the truth is - I've been throwing tantrums - begging for miracles like a spoiled toddler. This my friends is the long game. No tapping out. No cheating. I'm in for the duration. I'm still gonna want to drive through Taco Bell, y'all. But today I have more peace about my sitch. - end diatribe.