Teenage Dirtbag

It’s already over 70 degrees outside on a Monday morning. There should therefore be a huge thunderstorm at some point in the next couple of days, ‘coz that’s how it works in the Estuary area. If it happens, there may well be standing around outside because I could do with getting soaked. Everything itches. I thought I’d escaped the worst of hay fever this year but BOY was I wrong. However, finally, my left ear is back to normal.

Today therefore, time to talk about moving forward.

weightsandglasses

There is 5kg’s worth of fat on me that needs shifting. I can see it, and feel it: the importance of its removal has become wrapped up in an ability to prove to myself I can do hard work when it matters. I’m not setting a target date, but will make an effort. There’s other stuff that needs fixing too: personal things, shifts in axis that can’t all be done at once. You’ll grasp this when it’s done, with everything else.

For now, this is a busy week. I’ll finish off the last of my currently pinned poetry’s mirrored background gubbins this morning, then the last ten poems can go up. I’ve asked for two to be removed (and I’ll repin them when it happens) and then that’s it, the whole collection is ‘live’. I have then until Wednesday to get the last of the mirrored stuff up. That’s eminently doable in my time-frame.

typing2

Kettle on, let’s roll.

Do Your Thing

My daughter keeps asking me why I take pictures of the sky. There’s a really simple explanation: it is the reminder I’m small, part of an enormous whole. Taking pictures of yourself is great, but the Universe is larger, more expansive than just me. It is massive, complex and often difficult to cope with. Looking up, to the stars and the Universe beyond, serves an important and constant reminder. You are only a part.

You must work hard to make things matter.

I look at my Twitter followers every couple of days via third party app to see who has come and gone. Once upon a time, like My Fitness Pal (more of which in a moment) I would be unhealthily obsessed with a notional form of success. Now, I have but one goal. When I can exceed and maintain 3500 followers, I’ve really made progress. There’s no point trying to micromanage everything because down that path madness lies. I’ve also got fairly conclusive proof that numbers aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

I look at myself this morning, undeniably thinner and more muscular than I have been at any point in my life. I weigh exactly the same as I did back when there were no muscles and I could not get upstairs without being short of breath. If all that matters is a number, I’ve failed. Except that is so far from the truth as to be ridiculous: this is a brilliant place to exist, hugely comfortable and relaxed with the way I look and feel. So, do I use numbers as the reason for being, or do they simply become a guide?

They become part of the complex whole which is what I am.

This song’s on my cycling playlist (note to self: make a new one this weekend) and has become a bit of an anthem. If you stop worrying about what other people think, work hard and make realistic goals, a remarkable amount is possible. If you think you’ll never get anywhere and it’s all too hard, then it will be. The problems are there to solve, you just have to want it enough.

I REALLY want all of this, a very great deal.