Seemed about a hundred years ago
I’m skippin meals, gettin down to fight weight (that’s for you, B). Seriously, I’m tired of feeling old. I’ve lost 15 lbs, and I’m going for another 15. I wanna be that skinny kid again.
Tomorrow I’m headed for the beach for 4 days with just me and my girls. Don’t try to find me, I’ll be incommunicado (alright, I’ll be in the Canadian Hole).
If been up and down lately. Despair is a killer. Up now, but I’m totally avoiding the issue of having to go back home next week and help my parents downsize into a condo. That’s right, I’m the guy packing up Theresa’s room and bringing it South (the bed, the bike, the books…)
I’m avoiding the whole thought that this is too depressing. So I’ll just pretend it’s no big deal – what a lie. Oh well, if I can’t be emotionally honest, at least I’ll look good. I’m starting to look gaunt… another 6 miles a day, black coffee and cold tea and I’ll be back to my old, old self.
I’m really tired. I’m gonna run on the beach, make sand castles on the beach, baseball, football, reading… on the beach and not much else. I’m gonna let the wind and sand wash away about three years worth of remorse and regret.
Then I’m gonna come back and do it all over again, from the beginning. But with a bigger smile.