As is so often the case, I cannot organize my thoughts for a targeted post. So, here we go.
Yes, that’s me. It’s a tough attraction with all the dangers the sun poses. My parents both loved the sun—though I get my love for “stifling” heat solely from my father. I would prefer 100° F weather every day if I had the choice. (Curious that I live in Wisconsin, I know.)
My ancestry is made of pale ethnicities, so I have no idea why I tan so easily when I should burn by all logic. I sometimes wish I was more sensitive to the sun so I would have learned earlier in life to use caution when spending time outdoors. Of course I try to keep my skin protected now that I know better, but it isn’t something I remember all the time. That concerns me.
Even with all this—the danger, the fear…even the guilt—I am a moth, and it is my flame.
It never fails: I become ill after a couple weeks counting calories (thereby restricting calories, I suppose). It’s the darndest thing. This whole weight loss thing was a heck of a lot easier 14 years ago—you know, back when I was able to give it the one-two (diet-exercise) punch without these pesky repercussions.
The portion-control malady is usually in the form of the good old head cold. Lousy things, those colds. The symptoms are just enough to make you miserable—nothing more, nothing less. This time, the cold morphed into a sinus infection. I’ve now been on antibiotics for two days…five more to go.
My inflamed sinuses have temporarily stolen the hearing in my right ear. I never really had ear infections as a child, so this has been a rare experience for me. I am amazed at how this has affected my balance. The clogged ear has also amplified sounds that I wish I could turn down—the sound of my own voice being at the top of the list—but also, my heartbeat and the sound of my breathing.
I know it all sounds really whiny—and make no mistake, it is—but I am going a little bonkers with all that racket coupled with the issues with equilibrium. It’s a bad trip, man. To use the younger vernacular, I suppose I literally can’t even right now.
Fitbit has brought out the worst part of myself (in my opinion). It’s been a little data collecting device that fires all my OCD cannons: SO MANY NUMBERS! But the most awful of the ugly heads that have reared is my competitiveness. That I am competitive surprises most people, which makes me happy. I have made tamping down aggressive ambition an art. I abstain from activities that I believe will trigger the beast—I hate this part of my personality.
No matter where I look, be it a personality test or a summary of my astrological sign* (Virgo), this ruthlessness appears. Type-A much?
Fitbit users can “friend” each other and have step challenges. Only catastrophe can keep me from the top. Seriously. There are nights when I have delayed bedtime to do laps around the kitchen island just to get the edge.
When someone we know finds out I have a Fitbit and suggests that we be friends, Nick warns them off. “You don’t want to be Laura’s friend.” He knows. The struggle is real.
*I don’t actually put a lot of stock into horoscopes.
Our landscaper began work three days ago. The grass (sod in the front, seed in the back) will go in early this week, but everything is looking really good. We’re no longer ashamed to show our faces in the neighborhood now that it doesn’t look so construction zone-y.