I think we procrastinate when an activity is too difficult to imagine how to start. I’ve been procrastinating on deciding my fitness lifestyle for the better part of the past month, if not multiple months, and it’s been a mild irritant that’s just been permeating everything I do, but in minor ways. I can only express my stress so much through words. When others tell me about their gym memberships, I experience something weird: jealousy.
Life is the most stressful thing we all do. Within it, there is beauty and brutality. What happens when we encounter overwhelming stress? Stimuli that seems unfathomable from multiple angles can seem like juggling chainsaws, and before I forced myself to remain sober, moments like these would be my weakness. I would allow the stress to consume me. Now, though stress still affects me deeply, I’m usually able to bounce back overnight with some self-care.
I haven’t had much energy lately. My health has declined since I stopped rowing twice daily in minor ways, but it’s in the inability to move things I once could or work as hard as I once could. After I moved, I stopped being able to row at all. The chains are too loud. Sure, the neighbor kids still scream in the complex, but I don’t want to be rude like that, so I’m stuck…
Knee-deep in this depressive state, I don’t feel good, as in the opposite of evil rather than well. I feel like I am not worthy of having good things. Not respectable. Bad things should happen to me and that I might not be successful in both my hobby dreams and professional ventures. I feel like I am one failure away from not being able to bounce back. I just want to sleep this badness away.
I’ve collected all these things to satisfy, distract, my inner demons. When I’m in one of these more intense battles of the mind, “a fight for my soul,” what helps me though is usually some new little distraction. My inner critic, so powerful that anything anyone says is but a whisper in comparison to its screams, enjoys these plastic distractions. Sometimes sleep helps as well. I hate not having control over my thoughts like this.
“I always hear about the free weeks or the cheap monthly rates.” “Yeah, but if you look at the actual plans, over the course of a year, it’s like $500.[1,2]” It’d be one thing if I needed the external motivation, liked networking, did a wide range of workouts on many different types of ergometers, or wanted to learn from a personal trainer. All I wanna do is row! It’s been a month. I’m growing ever weaker…
I’m frustrated over my lack of progress. In life, my writing, my moving-out process, and everything. I’ve tried decreasing my impossibly high standards for myself. Maybe that goal is exacerbated by my one goal: writing. I balance that singular goal out with procrastinative activities when I’m not feeling well. It helps. Still, I’m frustrated that I’m not further along, which is weird. I was just told, to paraphrase, that I have an incredible work ethic.
This is just going to be a formless essay. I’ve omitted the picture, and won’t go for the usual 75-word introduction, chorus-verse-chorus writing style, so much of this is just going to be raw thought, unedited, and just going at my own pace.
I’ve just about reached the end of this mini-rower’s potential. Ten 10-minute sets at the new apartment and its pistons and monorail squeak enough to discourage me from putting my all into it. No matter how much I tried variations – rowing outside, rowing while doing laundry, using the hallway corners as grips for my arms so I wouldn’t need to use the pistons – there was just nothing that could compare. I’ll need a new option.
Facebook must be paid a lot by alcohol companies to peddle their brands to everyone. I’ve tried every possible avenue to reach out to Facebook to tell them to stop their occasional sprinkling of alcohol ads within Facebook or Instagram, but they don’t care. Even with my understanding that advertisers as a whole don’t really consider the needs of the customer beyond how much money they can swindle, on average, it’s still frustrating to encounter.