I’ve never been much to enjoy exercise.  In fact, I hate it- but unfortunately it’s a necessary evil.  30 minutes on the health rider machine every day, so I at least get some cardiovascular activity.  I’ve been doing the six minutes a day thing with the “shake weight” too, although I think all it’s doing for my meaty arms is replacing the pendulous skin under my arms with bulky biceps some dudes would kill for.  It is not giving me shapely feminine arms, rather, I think it’s making my upper body and shoulders even more formidable and off proportion, as if I were lifting weights or something.   I’ve always had huge arms- which is why I refuse to wear sleeveless shirts or dresses alone.  The sleeves of my wedding dress had to be cut off and re-done so my meaty arms would fit in them.  I might wear a sleeveless shirt under something or over something with sleeves- but never alone.  I don’t want to encourage those guys who have speculated that I used to be a male.  I know for a fact I am a biological female (even had a kid in the somewhat normal biological fashion too) but I have bizarre proportions.  I even looked bizarre the summer after my senior year when out of stress, chain smoking and probably a little too much mail order speed, (I admit I had a weakness for psuedoephedrine back when you could buy it by the 1,000 white crosses at a time) I’d unintentionally starved myself down to 115#.  I did not look sexy.  I looked like a top heavy scarecrow, a fact that even my Dr. pointed out when Mom dragged me in to see him because she thought I was anorexic or something.  Mom always used to be on my ass about  being too heavy (pot calling the kettle black, but I digress) but at that point even she thought I looked skinny and sick.  My Dr. at the time informed me that I needed to weigh somewhere between 130# and 150#, and that, “You might as well forget about looking like a model or something because that’s just not the way you’re made.”    I had to agree with him on that one.  At 115#  I looked like an emaciated dwarf.  The sad fact is, that even at a healthy weight I have bizarre proportions.  I know beauty is fleeting and I never had it anyway, but I still don’t want to be an ill-proportioned land whale.

This being said I am still on the quest to get down to 140#.  I have about thirty# or so to go, but I figure that with enough portion control (aka starvation…but it saves money on food too) and exercise that I will get there.  Eventually.  That’s one of the motivating factors behind getting through daily exercise and enduring all that hotness and sweating.  I think the sweating is the worst part about exercise.  I hate being hot and stinky.  I can be very disciplined about eating even though I don’t particularly like it.  The other reason for the whole fitness regime is I’m trying to keep my blood sugar down.  Diabetes sucks.  But if I could get down to 140# that would put me back to where I was for most of high school, and at least assuage my fears of becoming a 300# behemoth slob like so many of the girls I went to school with.

It really doesn’t seem fair- I know I could use to lose 20-30# and am actively working on it, but what about all the really, really fat people you see who never get diabetes?  I know there’s a heredity factor there also (Grandpa and Dad) but neither of my sisters have it either.  I don’t wish diabetes on anyone but it just sucks.  I think sometimes people look at you like it’s all self-inflicted and it’s not necessarily so.  Admittedly in my youth I lived on caffeine, nicotine, sugar and grease- but I changed that tune long before I was ever diagnosed with diabetes. 

Now I have to go back for yet even more lab work- it seems my liver is doing funky things which may be nothing or may be something (good question) and an ultrasound test on my liver too which is freaking me out.  It’s bad enough I already scheduled my paper nightie visit- apparently I still have to go get the nether area checked once a year even though I haven’t gotten lucky since Clinton was president, and I had a hysterectomy so there couldn’t be a whole lot left to have to check- but now I have to get more freaking blood tests too.  I’m sorry but that shit freaks me out.  I don’t know which is worse, the paper nightie visit, or the ominous specter of more blood work and the possibility of having even more shit wrong with me. 

Not having any money and worrying about how I’m going to pay for the bare necessities is a whole other issue I’m dealing with now.  Steve-o is costing me a small fortune not to mention scripts and all these Dr. visits that I really can’t afford.  Jerry is whining all the way about paying for anything which doesn’t help.  I am trying to trust that God will provide- and He does- but I really wish I didn’t have to go through the cliff-hanger version.  I can only pray for neither poverty nor riches- I just want to have the resources I need to get by.  Sometimes I have  a really hard time.  I know other people may have it harder so I really shouldn’t complain, but it scares me having to scramble and shift and scrape.  It never seems as if there is enough money to cover all the endless bills and needs and all that, and frankly the stress of it all drains me.   I’m trying not to freak out about money or the lack thereof, but I need some real help in that area.  I know God answers prayer and right now that’s where I’m at with it.  Trying to trust…I believe, help my unbelief.