I’m sure that because I’m tired that, when I get home tonight, I will work out for at least an hour.

Pain is an odd thing. Unless someone or something is actively inflicting it upon one’s self, it is not quite real.

Emotional pain, unless being outwardly expressed or manifested through destructive behavior, does not really exist.

I look fine. I look rested. I smile at people. I lie and tell them that I am doing well. The truth is that I am suffering from constant physical pain. It ebbs and flows, depending on my medication and level of physical activity.

For these past few days, it has been flowing to unbearable levels. It is like a snake curled up tight at the base of my skull striking and biting at multiple points along my spine and into my left shoulder. Are there mythological multi-headed snake beasts? It’s definitely not the Hydra. This thing has way more heads.

I shake. I clench my jaw. I sleep. I medicate. I drink. I eat cookies. (Are cookies better or worse than another Vicodin or Valium?) Various combinations can get me into a good enough mood (desensitized) that I can make the pain a dull-toothed annoyance.

I have an incredibly high pain tolerance. I was in an accident at age five in which I was burned by boiling water on ~70% of my body. Through that recovery, I was given morphine for the pain.

When the bar is set that high in your childhood, you just don’t experience pain the same way that other people do. Dental work without anesthesia? No problem. Surgery with a mild local anesthetic? Preferred.

When I experience most pain I step outside of myself (PTSD) to a certain degree. I dismiss it. I ignore it.

I cannot ignore this. This beast won’t let me go.

I could rant about how growing up in a town (and an extended family) that anointed athletes at very young ages and told everyone else to just stop trying led to my hatred of physical activity and lots of confusion about belonging and my identity that I struggle with to this very day… but that’s just useless baggage and brings up lots of anger at myself for continuing to buy into other people’s bullshit and ideas about who I am and who I should be.

I could go on about how I’m really unhappy with where I live. Not my house, mind you. Not even the city. I just really miss the place I moved from. I miss the city. I miss my old job. I miss my family. I miss the fog and the rain. And it breaks Tom’s heart that I miss it all so much that I can’t really enjoy myself here.

I feel like no matter what I do or where I go, I’m abandoning someone. And I hate myself for it.

I hate myself for being driven to mediocrity because of some fucked up sense of duty.

But things aren’t so bad that I am unhappy. I’m a very happy person, even when things aren’t going well. I’m a “glass half-full” lady. Things could always be worse.

I think some of it has to do with the things that I derive enjoyment from, the artists and creators who have made wonderful things for me to enjoy, the people who make me laugh, the people who make me think, and the fact that I finally have a dog. When I’m in a bad mood a good song or story or piece of art can literally turn my brain around.

Something about travel and reconnecting with people and places brings up all of this stuff in me. This is why I need a vacation from my vacation – for quiet reflection/meditation.

And to get over this bloody head cold.

When other people can’t eat solid food for two weeks, they lose weight. Not me!

I’m going to have to start working out twice a day to lose some weight because I can’t eat any less. Not now, though. I can barely make it through four hours of office work without a nap.

Next week, I’m going to start with a small cardio/floor work routine to get warmed up for June, which will be a training month. Training for what? For THE PURE PHYSICAL RADNESS – a prelude to THE PEAK FITNESS SPECTACULAR approximately one year from now.

The diet is going well, and I’m just frustrated that I’m not seeing results. But my metabolism shuts down without physical activity and healing doesn’t count, apparently.

I guess I should be happy that I haven’t gained any weight back. HUZZAH!

I feel great. I’m sleeping better, I’ve stopped snoring, and I can breathe through my nose all of the time!

My throat feels like it’s been stabbed, though.

I had my check-up two days ago and saw pictures of my tonsils once they had been removed – they were 1 inch wide and 3 inches long. They were covered in scars and looked like Freddy Krueger’s balls. And, apparently, they were full of stones.

In not gross news, my favorite kind of frozen yogurt is tart plain, followed by caffe latte, and tart mango. No toppings.

My mom went home on Tuesday (the same day as my check up), but didn’t get going right away because she missed her flight (my fault) and so we ended up getting manicures and pedicures at the Palm Springs Mall in the same shop that Shannen Doherty had her nails done during the height of her 90210 fame (autographed Brenda Walsh poster). When Mom called me to tell me she had missed her flight I felt so terrible, I started crying and sobbing, which was dumb because it made my throat hurt.

She caught a later flight and everything was fine, but I got upset. I blame the drugs.

We had a great visit and, honestly, I don’t think I would be recovering as well as I am if my mom hadn’t been here. I love her and I miss her. I wish I could do for her what she does for me.