Slipping (weight loss, week 12)

Not with my diet, but with exercise.

I still eat my usual calorie range. I have cheat meals on the weekends, but I never eat more calories than I burn (Thanksgiving being the exception). I am eating decent food. Fruits, vegetables, whole grains. Even the frozen meals I’ve become so dependent on are healthy in terms of calories and nutritional value. I’ve taken a liking to the organic frozen meals made by Kashi, Amy’s Kitchen, and Archer Farms, all of which contain “food” ingredients instead of flavorings and chemicals.

I haven’t fallen back into any unhealthy eating patterns because I allow myself to go out to eat once a week. I’m proud of myself for being able to do that and make it a habit.

If only I could do so well with exercise.

At first, I was going to the gym several times week. It’s close enough to my house that I can’t make any excuses about inconvenience, but I’m just so tired all the time. All I ever want to do is nap. I can’t wake up in the morning unless it’s absolutely time to get up for work. When I get home, I am sleepy, I have a headache, and I need to feed the dogs. By the time I feel relaxed and possibly motivated to go to the gym, my favorite shows have started. After my shows, it’s 9:00 p.m. and it’s a good time to go to the gym. However, this is where discouragement plays a role. Every time I mention that I work out in the evening, I am told to try doing it in the morning. I get to the point where I feel like doing a night work-out is just futile, like it doesn’t really matter because the sleep is reversing my hard work.

When I focus on strength training (which I much prefer over cardio), I am told that I should be focusing on cardio to burn fat since I am so obese. If I consider an all-cardio plan, I feel like I would lose too much muscle and wouldn’t look thin.

So, I decide that things will be better when I get my Wii for Christmas and can do cardio at home. But I have a perfectly good punching bag already, which I don’t use. My other excuse is that I like to walk outdoors, but it’s much too cold. When it warms up again I’ll get back on the wagon. Another part of me says that weight loss is 80% diet anyway, and my calorie-cutting has been going very well.

I am baffled about my unwillingness to exercise, when I know that my energy levels will skyrocket and I would feel much less groggy if I just move around and start sweating.

I told myself I wouldn’t fall into the winter blues this year, but I guess it’s inevitable. I’m tired, worried about getting laid off at work because the company didn’t profit this year, and I feel like I should be doing much more with myself than just getting up, going to work, and coming home to watch TV and get on the Internet.

Things I want to do or feel like I should be doing:

1. Becoming part of a social club, whether it’s a book club, wine tasting, scrabble, dog lovers, etc. etc.

2. Working on my novel — I want to have a legitimately published book before I die.

3. Cleaning my car, interior and exterior. Cleaning the house, raking the yard, finish driving the rest of the screws in the fence boards in my back yard, burning the post-Gustav debris.

4. Educating myself or at least entertaining myself with books. Can you believe that I’ve written a book and want to write another one, yet I almost never read for fun? I barely read in college, and I have a degree in English.

5. Exercising. Casual games of basketball, walking the dog or playing frisbee with her, or just straight-up treadmill.

But my problem is that whenever I think about doing any of these things, I feel guilty about it, like I should be doing something else instead. So all I do is tell myself I’ll start reading for fun once I am out of college, because I barely read the books I need for class. Now I’m out of college and figure I’ll wait until my wife is out of college, too, so that she’s home more often and can share the chores.

I’ll work on my novel once I finish that big project at work. Once the holidays are over. Once I get the hang of this diet and exercising thing. I’ll do the major cleaning and maintenance stuff around the house…. tomorrow? I’ll join a social club when my wife has more time to herself and can accompany me.

I’ll exercise after my nap.

Leave me alone, I’m retired

For a little over 3 years, I’ve worked for a small entertainment/college magazine (By small, I mean about 40,000 readers). It definitely doesn’t paid the bills, but I pretty much owe my success to that publication, and therefore I can’t leave. About a year into my work there, there were a lot of structural changes. To make a long story short, I became the editor-in-chief. I worked this job for the rest of my days in college. They paid me $300/week to run the paper — not bad considering I only worked 20 hours a week on it. I graduated a few months ago, ran the paper this summer, and then I took a bow as of Saturday.

I had my replacement trained already. I was excited to be relieved of this job. It was stressful. I had to constantly make sure we had a full staff who could produce enough content to meet the quota. I hired and fired and even had to micromanage sometimes because all the writers were college students. I fucking hate college students — honestly, why are so many of you incompetent when it comes to life’s obligations?

Anyway, even though I’m no longer the boss, I still write for the paper, as does my wife. We need the extra cash-flow to help keep our finances afloat while she’s in school. Since I still technically work there, I have this sense of responsibility to keep the paper in line. I still got phone calls today about missing sports articles. People looked at me for guidance at the staff meeting yesterday. It was hard not to instinctively give orders and answer questions.

My boss told me it was my responsibility to find and train my replacement before I resign. I couldn’t help but laugh at that douchey statement. Sure, it’s a good idea for me to get a replacement, but what the hell would he do if I just said “Peace out. Good luck finding an editor to replace me.” As much of a prick as this guy has been in the past, I really was tempted to do just that. Unfortunately, I have to keep writing for them for financial reasons. Since I still work there, I still feel like the boss, though I am no longer being paid to be the boss.

So, should I just keep my mouth shut at the meetings and quit answering the phone when employees call? Why do I feel like I still owe them my knowledge?

We need more time

We work too much.

The typical work week is 40 hours, while most employees who make a decent salary are working upwards of 50 or more. You’re at work from 8 a.m. until 5 p.m. If you have to run an errand, you probably have to stay even later to make up the hour or two you lost. When you leave at 5, you might sit in traffic for 30-60 minutes.

At 6 p.m., you’re pretty tired, not just from the fact that you woke up early or that you mentally stressed your brain all day — you’re tired at the idea of having to do it all over again tomorrow. You’ll have to go to bed at a decent hour, which means there’s not much you can do tonight. You have to feed and walk the dog. You have to pay bills, tidy up the house, do the dishes, mow the grass, etc. etc. etc.

Life is too much maintenance. I propose a 20-hour work week instead. I guarantee you the same amount of work would get done. No one admits it, but more than half of the time spent at work is idle time. Why can’t we just use that time to fucking enjoy life? What’s the point of having a nice house when all I have time to do is clean it, fix it, and sleep in it?

Freegans have the right idea in theory, but it’s not the life I want. They search for usable trash and pinch every penny. I, on the other hand, want to be paid the same salary for doing the same job, but I want to be allowed to admit that I can do it in half the time or less. My life right now is preparing, maintaining, rejuvenating, and consumption of mass media. There’s gotta be something more to this.

Why this blog exists

I’m glad you’ve decided to read this blog. Welcome. You will know me as “smacksfrog,” or “Dig’em Frog.” Honey Smacks is my favorite cereal, and I eat them dry because I hate milk. My name is not important.

I’ve always written under my own name. Why not? I get paid for it, and I get the exposure I need to one day — you know — REALLY get paid for it.

But this time I’m trying something different. I won’t tell you my name, where I work, or where I live. I’m not going to hide that information, but I won’t say it outright. By that, I mean my future blog posts will inevitably provide massive hints as to my identity, but no real names or specific locations will be used. Google is not my friend.

You might wonder why it even matters. After all, I’m not famous (a few thousand people in my hometown know of me and my writing, but that’s it). I’m not a big, successful novelist or journalist. I’m not even rich. And to top it off, I live in America, where we are free to say what we want.

I’m doing this because my speech is not free, nor is yours. Everything we do or say comes with consequences, and the ones I’ve had a taste of are not worth it — at least not right now. Columns I’ve written for a local publication have put my other job (the one that pays more) in jeopardy.

I wrote a constructive article criticizing a Church-run pre-marital counseling retreat, and it made its way back to the man who performed our ceremony. He never mentioned it; I just happened to see the printed article as he thumbed through our file to find the marriage license. Why was it there? Who sent it to him? What did he plan to do? For some reason, I felt violated.

Posts I’ve made on public forums on the Internet have wound up printed out and sitting on my desk at work — a job I had recently started. Who put them there? I still don’t know, and I guess I never will.

An old boss kept a file on me. It contained articles and posts I had made on the Internet that he did not agree with. I found this file without his knowledge, and it was never used against me. I guess he was keeping it in case he ever needed to get rid of me. The company was failing anyway.

Readers send my writings to my closest friends, family members, and employers in hopes of showing them something I didn’t want them to see because I, in some way, threatened these readers’ opinions by asserting my own. In reality, all I’ve done is put into words what others might feel in hopes that someone is entertained by it — not enlightened, even. Entertained.

Some say I should be flattered by the effort people have made to hurt me and my environment. Perhaps it means that I am making an impact, my writing is effective, and I should go even further. To me, though, I don’t feel like it’s worth it yet.

I’m not paid big bucks to write these little op-ed pieces. It’s not my primary source of income, and worse, it has shown massive potential to affect my actual primary source of income, my life, everything I have to provide a stable environment for myself and my wife. I refused to get fired because someone was miserable enough to find out where I work and fling every piece of negative evidence in that direction.

It’s my own fault. I say things (not necessarily offensive things) that other people disagree with, and I am easily accessible. I have Facebook, very obvious online usernames, and a few ex-friends who wouldn’t hesitate to make every effort to destroy my life. I get my words out, and I suffer the consequences for them. I’m not interested in doing that anymore, at least not until my primary means of sustaining life is via imparting my words on others. I want to be paid to write about my beliefs so that I never have to lose my job as a result of them.

I started this blog because even though it’s in my best interest to keep my opinions disconnected from my name, I can’t not write them. I will always write them. This may not ever make me money, but one day, when that “damned novel” is finished and several contracts are signed, I’ll be comfortable enough to tell the world I’m the one behind this nationally popular blog. Yes, I have grandiose, unrealistic dreams. I hope you do, too.

I want you to read these posts and be entertained (maybe enlightened, but not necessarily) by them. I’d like you to comment on my posts and give me your own input as well. I want to know what other people think about things when they aren’t under the scrutiny of miserable individuals who can’t stand to be challenged.

I want you to leave no-holds-barred comments on my blog with everything you think about my posts. I look forward to writing words that have no bearing on those who sign my paychecks. And I look forward to getting feedback from people who can’t do a thing to hurt me anymore.

Welcome to my blog. Get the words out.