Fack.

Ever since my beloved Deanna died last month of a heart attack, I constantly think I am having a heart attack...seriously...if it can happen to her it surely can happen to me - esp b/c I am genetically predisposed and have a few risk factors...the fact of the matter is I deserve one. It is unfortunate that it took until my 40's to realize through the haze of my generalized/consistent depression that I  pretty much fucked myself. Every hour I spend on the treadmill these days I cannot help but see the simplicity of it all. I hate exercise...truly loathe it...but an hour of it is nothing. Yeah it wrecks my hair and yeah it makes me hot and sweaty...but if I had "gotten it" 20 yrs ago I wouldn't find myself in the state of obese life betrayal that I am in now. I can assure you 20 yrs ago had I had any real incentive or idea about what I should be doing to take care of myself it would not be so hard in my 40's It astounds me how this managed to escape me...I am not stupid...though I certainly feel so at the moment - especially wandering around a gym full of ppl who CLEARLY "got it" long before I did or were somehow programmed to just know it.

I am excessively happy that A. is programmed...like she had a choice really...between watching me waddle through life and me making a concentrated effort to ensure she "got it" early on (to avoid my current state) - she's got it...she does yoga, she runs, danced, sports, she lives life....it is surely my grandest accomplishment...raising a fearless go-getter from the comfort and safety of my couch/desk chair...it is like some sort of miracle really...

Back to my treadmill musings while sweat dribbles down my face and I watch fit people doing what I am doing with little to no effort as I die...watching that clock on the treadmill becomes my life for an hour....at 6:50 mins in - I am calculating the time left before the agony is complete...53:10...I am getting better at math as well as sweating my balls off. Even while hating every minute...every step that my foot is on fire and being crushed there is a voice in my head - ragging at me that if I had started this 20 yrs ago I would be a different person, likely a happier person, would have been a better mother and would not be limping around like a stereotypical fat lady with a fucked up foot. Oh hindsight you cruel mistress of regret...fuck you. All I can do now is go forward...I mean - I am not dead yet...I haven't had my leg amputated...I am not in a wheelchair...and I have no control over dropping dead of a heart attack at this point so...just keep going...

Like Deanna wasn't...I am not done yet...I still have some shit to do...stuff to see...things to see through...so...even though it is easier to crawl into bed and sleep and over-contemplate everything I will go get some sun today, go see some good people with positivity to offer and get out of my head b/c if one thing has become very clear to me...I cannot be trusted in my head.