Because I'm not particularly liking the one I've got right now. Few different things crashing around and not lining up and it's just a whole lot of ugh, and blah.
Had dinner with a friend tonight, and said some of those things out loud, which helped. It's a little weird, I've only known her for a month, but there's a comfort level there which allowed me to spill some of the ugh and blah. I'm pretty reserved, so sometimes it surprises me when and to whom I share things. But sometimes you just need an outlet, I guess.
(And yes, I'm well aware this is coming across like some whiny emo teen diary. Self awareness is something I do possess, and sometimes I wish I could lie to myself more. I heard a piece on the radio a while ago that argued that lying to yourself, at some level, was a key or a predictor of success, that being able to convince yourself that you were a good communicator, even if it wasn't entirely true, helped you get ahead. I can't find any such thing on line, although there's a piece from 2012 in the Wall Street Journal that makes the case for lying to yourself.
Aaaaaanyway. I had a good week last week, weight loss wise, and this week, it seems like last week was just a fluke, or an illusion. Two pounds lost last time were found again this week. Granted, there was a quick road trip down to Columbus to go see a band, as well as a friend sing for another band on the same bill, which accounted for two fast food meals and a whole lot of soda pop to make sure I didn't fall asleep on the road (it's only three hours to get down there, but I get bored quickly while driving), that could very well account for said gain, everything else being equal. But two pounds gained is two pounds gained, and while not entirely a big deal, is a big deal in light of the rest of the ugh and blah bouncing around my brain.
Trying to play pickleball and volleyball for my exercise these days. The volleyball is relatively new, it's something that I like doing but I haven't done in ages, maybe having played about 10 times in the last 5-7 years? I'm not very good at it, and that annoys me. There's a part of me that thinks that it's just practice that I need to figure it out, and there's another part of me that's just impatient in thinking that I should be able to figure out how to dig the ball and get it in the general direction of who I'm trying to pass to. And in the meantime, my knees are whining about playing. The pickleball, too, that isn't helping on the knees front. There were senior citizens out there this morning, moving quicker than I was. But I'm enjoying playing that again, with a relatively pain free elbow, even if I'm not playing particularly well these days.
So this has been a disjointed blog post, certainly not one for the "hey, I can write and be passably witty and amusing, if only to myself" annals. But it needed to be put out there, if only as something to be looked back upon when I'm in a better brainspace, as a reminder of something or another.