My parents just left. They visit here maybe once or twice per year or so.
And ... I have to be the bigger person.
It is not bad. No, not really. No, no.
But it -- eh, you know -- the dynamic does not change and now, as they get older, I find I lace it with considerably more guilt than I did when I was in my twenties and thirties. Here they are, staring eighty in the face, and I am staring at fifty, and guilt just pushes up, like some unwanted, demented weed.
I think some of it, on my part, is the heat. And PMS. And the routine being disrupted, even though I invited them in. Of course this wasn't unexpected. But we, y'know, we have our routines. Our routines differ from what they were a few years ago but we still have them, and want to follow them.
Oh and another thing is that I've had a boatload of restaurant meals and very little exercise. Yeah, that'll add to it all.
And then -- oof -- politics.
I gotta say, I truly hate talking politics. I am online a lot, and it is a large topic of conversation on the site that I manage, and I mainly steer clear.
Include me out.
And, of course, that was dredged up this morning. Why don't you care? Why aren't you more active? Yadda yadda yadda.
I do care -- I just don't want to rehash it. The world's problems aren't going to get solved here. All we're going to do is piss one another off. Enough, already!
Gaaah, just listen. I'm starting subtly, I'm being ignored. I get more vocal, I'm being ignored. Finally I out and out say -- I.Don't.Want.To.Talk.About.Thi
Okay, now it stops, but not before a last, parting word.
God. Just quit it.
This is done less than an hour before they depart, hence it not only looms large in my head but also helps to color the visit.
And, neither do they. Life isn't all sweetness and light, and I am totally okay with that, but just let the damned thing go for a weekend.
We went to Maine over the weekend. World's fastest LL Bean shopping spree. I was a whirling dervish. Inexplicably, I was only given 20 minutes. I actually got 4 things, tried them on (there was a 5th that fit but I didn't like how it looked on me, so I threw it back) and purchased them. I should submit that to the Guinness Book of World Records or something. Tank top, shorts, pair of jeans and a yellow hoodie. Right now I'm wearing the 1st 2 as it is pushing 90 degrees here.
So ... that was the chief reason for going to Maine. Pretty scenery, to be sure. Something to do. I know they get bored silly at my house but what can I do? Mr. J works, I have blogging (I should say: I work, too!) and we don't give a damn about any movie that's out right now. Air conditioners are not in the windows although that could be changed if need be. Museums and restaurants aplenty here, plus scenery is not too far away.
But, it's getting harder and harder. For Mr. J and I, it is easier. It's almost like the ease has been sucked out of the earlier generation.
And, Maine. It has some emotional connections for me. Not just because I attended Summer camp there as a teenager. It's also the place where, in 2007, I almost fainted in monster heat. And I could tell, the thoughts were -- if you weren't so goddamned fat you wouldn't be in this predicament.
Well, I was. I was goddamned fat.
I'm not any more. And I talk about it plenty, but I am also a bit tired of that as well. Not as sick of it as I am of politics and, no, I am not sick of you, fellow Sparkies.
But I am tired of what is the internal dialogue. The one where I say, well, I used to be this way. I'm not any more.
I need to let that go. It's done. It's over with. Can it come back? It's certainly possible. The chiefly annoying and unfair thing about weight loss is that it never really ends, you never really stop and you can never really slide without major massive freakin' consequences.
I don't think my parents are watching me, eagle-eyed, to see if I'll fall. There are people who do (those people should occupy one of the seven circles of Hell after death, so far as I'm concerned). There are folk who mentally rub their hands with glee.
Oh, I TOLD you she couldn't do it. Stupid fat girl. Never thin for long. Always fat, already fat again, don't let that appearance fool you! She can't be this way permanently. Leopard, spots, you know the drill.
I guess this post is a real downer, and I'm sorry about that. I am, yep, there's that ole guilt again. Why am I complaining about this?
But, bottom line, it is also my own fears bubbling up to the surface. It is also seeing thirty years into the future. Who do I want to be? The one who still walks every morning, or the one having trouble getting up off the couch? The one who climbs stairs with no problem, or the one who huffs during the ordeal?
So, it is guilt. It is imagination. It is fear. It is some sorrow, knowing what was before. And can never be again. And I know what is coming, the hard decisions that will have to be made. I fear I will not have the courage to make them.
Hence, if I leave with you with any takeaway today, what I can say (and some of this is the heat talking -- oh, look, it's 90, oh joy) to you is the following:
Perpetual dieting sucks.
Parking far away when you just want to be closer sucks.
Drinking water all the time sucks.
Cardio, whether you want to do it or not, sucks.
But not doing those things sucks even more.
And at some point, I hope you all live long enough, and you'll see the consequences, one way or the other.
Extreme old age sucks.
All we can do is make it a long time before we're in extreme old age, regardless of our true birth dates. And, when it does come, to make it suck as little as possible.
Thanks for reading. I suspect I'll be more cheerful next week.