I wanna quit the gym!

There is an episode of Friends revolving around Chandler, who has been paying for a gym membership for years but never goes. He explains to Ross that the gym is not something one can quit. Ross, believing this to be utter nonsense, agrees to go to the gym with Chandler and offer him moral support while Chandler quits the gym. In this episode Chandler repeats frequently, and with increasing desperation. “I wanna quit the gym!”

In my household, when things are reaching epic levels of suckage, one of us will invariably exclaim “I wanna quit the gym!” It is our way of calling red with the most vanilla of colloquialisms, when there is no one who can make it stop, whatever “it” is. When we are feeling as if we are helplessly embroiled in a situation or series of events seemingly beyond our control, we say it every bit as desperately as Chandler.

I am a person who thrives on routine, predictability, and stability. I am also generally fit and healthy. The past several months every area of my life has been in upheaval. Additionally, I have had a few medical issues that have occurred back-to-back for months, some simultaneously, making me feel every bit of my age.

I wake up tired and go to bed exhausted. I’ve not been able to do my daily exercise. Many of my submissive practices, which had reached the level of ritual for me, anchoring me when nothing else could, have been suspended due to health, causing further instability.

I’m not pleasant to be around. I, who have preached against having any form of alcohol in the house, now have a vodka budget for those days when I just can’t adult anymore. One of those medical issues, I knew would last a couple of months. I thought, in the long run it would be worth it. It’s been just about seven weeks and I’m not seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m pretty sure there is no light, that tales of the light have been mythic in nature, I’ve been hornswoggled into believing them, and paid a pretty penny for the privilege.

I am the rock of my family. Everyone dumps their days worth of crap on me and moves along feeling so much lighter. I keep my whining to myself unless directly asked “How are you?” Even then, I tend to downplay how crappy I feel both emotionally and physically because, hey, it’s been months, talking about it doesn’t make it better, and even I’m sick of hearing it.

Today I’m doing some dumping of my own into the blogosphere. Here I don’t have to be strong. No one counts on me to bolster them into having a better day. I don’t have to be supportive. It is my metaphorical way of climbing into bed, pulling the covers over my head, and having a good cry.

Let the record show: I wanna quit the gym!

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