“The only way into truth is through one’s own annihilation; through dwelling a long time in a state of extreme and total humiliation.” ~ Simone Weil

I am more than “into” truth; the truth permeates my very being.  I’m bathing in truth.  It saturates every cell in my body.  If I could be wrung dry, truth would be a puddle on the floor in front of me.  Seriously.

An unoriginal truth:   I have discovered that my life’s purpose is to serve as a warning to others.  I’ve wallowed in the sty of humiliation for a long, long time.  You don’t even know . . . many of my “best” moments are known only to me (and maybe a few strangers).

So, it’s not too difficult for me to confess some of the truths of my life.  Here’s a truth for ya – I’m not a good blogger.  I’m way too easily distracted.

Distracted Manhole

Ooooh – look at adorable kittens! They’re so cute! HEEEEEELLLLPP!!

I’ve also suffered writer’s block, although that is a fairly generous description inasmuch as it presumes that I’m a writer.  It would be more accurate to say that recently I have encountered “blocks” of several varieties included among them is my inability to think of anything worth blogging about.

Writer's Block

I get about half way through a draft post and I decide that it sucks and I lose interest in trying to find a way to make it suck less . . . and then I just sort of wander off to look at some shiny object.  My mind wanders and it’s hard to focus on . . . I wonder if zombies have taste preferences.  I bet they prefer to eat people who routinely eat spicy foods because whoever saw a zombie take time to add salt and pepper to the intestines of the person that they’re consuming?   Maybe I should change my diet to make myself less appetizing to them during the next zombie apocalypse.  Wait . . . what was I talking about?  Something about truth and the meaning of life . . . ?

Zombie Pancakes

Evidently ice cream too

Evidently ice cream too

Another truth: I’m not an athlete. I have no God-given talent or natural ability.  None.  I’ve never deluded myself about this, but even if I wanted to, recent events confirm beyond any doubt that I was made for the couch.  The purpose of my life is to serve as a warning to others . . . from my couch.

I’ve been working hard, you guys.  I’ve routinely went to gym class and done Spin class twice a week.  These classes are no joke folks.  We’re talking HIGH INTENSITY and are led by Ivan the Terrible’s granddaughter.

Cross Fit Instructor (2015_03_18 23_02_09 UTC)

Last week I went for a run.  It was my first run in a couple of months.   I TRULY thought that it would be better than my previous runs.  I GENUINELY believed that my physical condition was improved and that a 5K on the trail would prove it. WRONG!  Here’s the humiliating confession.  I “ran” a 5K in something like a 12.5 minute mile pace.  I had to stop to walk FOR THE FIRST TIME after one mile.  It went downhill from there.

That was really hard, you guys

That was really hard, you guys

It’s unbelievable, really. How can I be this bad after working so hard to get better?  In what universe does that happen? Nowhere.  It’s me.

The next day I tried another 5K on the treadmill.

Treadmill Fail

That didn’t work so well.

Fear not.  I’m going to keep trying.  I will give it another 6 months before I throw in the towel and resign myself to living the rest of my life as a fat slob who can no longer run.  After all, it’s only been 5 months and 24 days since the surgeon cracked my chest like a walnut and moved some of my cardiac arteries around.  Even though I feel fine – like nothing ever happened – I’m going to allow myself to use that as an excuse for six more months.

All is not horrible.  My work has reduced my walrus-like dimensions by about 10 pounds.  Don’t jump to any conclusions here.  There’s not a queue of people waiting their turn to see my abs.  I’m still a fat bastard.

Fat Bastard

My size has not visibly reduced. But, I have reduced a bit.  That’s something.   And that’s the truth.

I’ll try to be a better correspondent.  Until next time,

PR

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