Tag Archives: motivation

Non-fiction

Unique Observations

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I saw a black t-shirt this morning with a message in old English font that said, Assholes Live Forever. Where did she buy that shirt? And is it true? The assholes do live long if you were to ask me.

I sit in torment over tomorrow. Work will start again, and I still haven’t heard from the doctor about my hand. I have to keep calling him until he sets an appointment. My job is making me work on commission. They pay me only fifty-five percent of my salary once a month, and then the total of my salary plus the commission is on the next payslip. It’s not enough to get by.

My right leg still itches with some sort of sore on my calf. I hope it isn’t from a bed bug. The last thing I need is another infestation. I’ve been through that hell enough times already and now isn’t the right time. The right time is never.

But anyway, I’m facing a wall right now and can see the rest of the shop through the glass reflection of a picture frame. My head is full of residue. I don’t feel motivated and haven’t felt motivated for quite some weeks. I’ll have to practice patience until the motivation sparks. I vegetated all of yesterday, but today I’ll get exercise. I was using the elliptical machine the other day along with the stair stepper for almost an hour. I burned a lot of calories, and I counted them with my watch. It’s the only way to know if I’ve made any progress. I don’t feel like going to the gym after I’ve just joined, but maybe my motivation will change.

There’s a woman wearing a cowboy hat high on top of her head, with most of her blonde hair showing on top. And then she left with her man.

It’s cold in here. I wish they would turn down the AC. They always turn this place into a freezer. I’m the only one here. There are people sitting outside on the patio, but I don’t want to be near those folks. I’m doing just fine where I am.

Someone posted on my blog yesterday that I should subscribe to theirs. I didn’t, and I didn’t understand why they would post such a comment. It was something I didn’t approve of either. I’m not subscribing to someone’s blog just because of what they told me to do. As it were, they didn’t subscribe to mine, so I didn’t see the point.

I’m lost for words. It wasn’t this difficult a month ago. Now writer’s block has put me in handcuffs. I belong to a Facebook group about writers helping other writers. It’s mostly bitter people bashing other bitter people about their writing. But once in a while, someone will post that they’re a new writer who’s facing writer’s block. They can’t think of any new ideas, so they’re seeking advice from someone who might know the answers. The answer is that it’s everyone’s plight. No one is immune to this illness. We get trapped in it because of life’s difficulties. And that’s my answer: that everyone has to deal with the same shit no matter how experienced they are. It’s about continuing writing, even if it’s bullshit. In some ways, that’s the beauty if that’s the way you’re looking. But so many of us stop where we are and wait for our thoughts to come rather than keep our hands moving with time. And then the thoughts emerge as best as they can. I often stop where I am but that’s not good. Anyway, what’s the use? This will go down as another wasted post in a long line of others. I sit and wonder why I’m doing this.

Non-fiction

Fatigue

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I awakened to another summer morning, not motivated to do much at all. The doctor still hasn’t called to set up an appointment. My hand is still going numb. But at least I’m taking another day off from work.

I slept in and pulled myself out of bed. It was a struggle to leave the apartment. Just imagine having to do my job.

I drove to the gym yesterday and signed up. The salesperson, I’ll refer to him as, showed me around the facility like I knew he would. I just wanted to be in and out, sign up and leave, but the salesperson had to do his job and walk me through every corner of the place as if one had never been seen. But I was patient, polite, inquisitive. I saw the fitness room, where they do Zumba classes, the fitness band room, the cycling room with a disco ball, the weight room, the personal trainer room, and lastly the cardio room, where I believe I would spend most of my time.

And then he led me back to his desk where I knew what was to come: not just me signing up for the gym but him trying to upsell me to a personal trainer, which I wasn’t interested in at all. He was eager to offer me a machine that would measure my body fat and levels of nutrition: too much information. I was better off ignorant. But he insisted that I try it out. There were three membership levels: the basic, in which I would use the equipment at that gym only for ten dollars a month, the fit, where I would get to use the equipment at multiple gyms and set up lessons with a personal trainer, and then the max, which would offer all of those things plus access to that nutrition/body fat machine, which I didn’t need. I chose the fit level because I just wanted to use the equipment at multiple locations. But he kept trying to upsell me to the max fit which I knew he would do. I saw it all coming.

“What are your fitness goals?” he asked.

I didn’t see that question coming. It made me uncomfortable. Did I really want to expose my insecurities to that kid? I gave him the vaguest answer. “I would like to get in shape.”

After the tenth time I said no to a personal trainer, he made that move where he called over his manager who so happened to be working at the next desk. A guy named Buddy. What does that tell you? He was big, and not with muscles, and covered in tattoos. One of the tattoos said I Want to Kill You on his forearm. And he spoke so fast that I couldn’t keep up. It was a tactic for me to say yes. Every time I said no, Buddy would offer to lessen the cost of the program. I would’ve had to pay $144 biweekly for four weeks with a personal trainer. I kept having to say no. Buddy kept going a fourth and fifth time. I knew what to expect. Right now I’m just not committed, I kept saying. And finally he surrendered, and I won.

I just can’t see myself with a personal trainer. I have enough commitments already. The reality is I don’t need someone telling me what I should or shouldn’t eat: no healhy fats, lean fats, supplements such as creatine, et cetera. Maybe someday, but I’m not ready to buy all that crap at the store. I left the gym, and maybe I’ll go today if I feel motivated.