I sat down this evening to make a list of “stuff that I do.” The idea was to have a somewhat balanced list. On one side, I’d list all the productive activities. On the other side, I’d list all the unproductive activities. Then, when I finish something I have to do (like work), I can decide what to spend time on next by picking from one side or the other.
I don’t know if that would have worked or not because a funny thing happened while I was making the list. I was able to think of eleven productive activities very easily, but when I moved my pen to the other side of the paper I could only think of three unproductive activities. I sat. I thought. I checked my favorite search engine. I looked around the room. Nothing. Just three things.
My list is so unbalanced.
But here’s the other funny thing: I spend more of my non-work hours on those three unproductive activities than I spend on the eleven productive activities!
I guess it’s time for a change. I get 8-9 hours each day (most days) to live my life outside of work & sleep, and I want to be more conscious of how I’m spending my time. Play is good, but there needs to be a balance. And my productive activities aren’t all work. Some of them are (cleaning, for example), but many of them are just good, constructive uses of time that are plenty enjoyable.
After all, I’ve been thinking lately about who I want to be, especially now that I’m closer to 30 than 20. Unless the person I want to be is an unkempt bum who wastes most of her free time, I should probably start using my time more wisely.
That is all.
Any thoughts? Please share!!
The first time I really, honestly questioned God’s existence was when I was 18 and facing a rough spot in life, a trial. My trial was mostly internal and invisible. At the time, I wished I had been crippled or had cancer or something, anything that someone else might be able to see from the outside. I hated the fact that people could look at me and think, “She has it pretty good!”
I went through a long trial, and I was a Christian, so I prayed. I prayed things like, “God, I know you’re there, so please help me,” and like, “God, I’m not asking you to change my circumstance. Just help me through it. Please. I need you.”
But I felt nothing as I prayed. And I felt nothing after I prayed. And I saw no sign of any supernatural help from God.
I thought I wasn’t believing hard enough or wasn’t living perfectly enough, so I put more effort into doing the right things and praying the right way and believing harder because that’s what was supposed to help. Eventually, though, I crossed a line and allowed myself to consider something else.
My rationality became: If God exists, I believe He has to be the God of the Bible. I believe He is everything the Bible says He is. Therefore, God must be holy, just, omniscient, omnipotent, merciful, and loving – all these things I’ve always believed Him to be. I don’t doubt that He is those things. But a loving God wouldn’t do this to me. If God exists and loves me, He would be helping me, not ignoring me. I’ve been pleading for a year, and nothing has happened. There’s no chance that God is simply not those things; therefore I have to conclude that maybe God doesn’t exist at all.
After I figured that out, I started calling myself agnostic. I stopped going to church. Stopped praying. Let down my guard and my standards. Went about my life as best as I could without God. (For a time.)
I have a confession.
I’ve been trying to write about my struggle with my weight and food for a long time. When I say a long time, I mean at least 2 years. I mean almost since the beginning of this blog.
I’ve been trying to write a good summary of all my problems and how I overcame them or at least how I planned to overcome them, but the truth is that I don’t know if I ever will.
I’m not just overweight. By all accepted standards, I’m technically obese. I may always be. I don’t want to be, but I can’t promise a radical change at this point.
I’m someone who works from home, who plays computer games and Xbox games, who watches Netflix for hours on end, and whose favorite hobbies are “artistic.” Art isn’t usually very active, unless you’re talking about dance, and while I do enjoy dancing, I’m not a dancer. I’m sedentary. Even when I fight against it and get into a routine of regular active, I’m still a mostly sedentary person. And I eat. I eat when I’m bored and when I’m sad and when I’m stressed and when I’m not-sober.
And here’s the honest truth. Here’s where I am right now. Here’s my real confession. I absolutely hate my body.
I’m not saying that to get sympathy. Believe me, that’s not the goal. I’m not even saying it to beat myself up, nor to motivate myself to change. I just have been trying to write about this for so long, and I’ve been trying to convey a “good” message, and I’ve been trying to change the way I think and feel to fit the way I want to write about my struggle. I’ve been trying to write about it, but not just tell the truth about it. The truth is I positively HATE my body, hate the fact that I’m fat, hate how much I eat.
I mean, seriously, I cry about it. I cry at the most random times. Even if I’m eating healthy food, while hungry, I will sometimes cry over the guilt of the fact that I’m eating at all. I mean, I feel like I don’t even deserve to feed myself. And I don’t know if you’ve ever felt that way, but it’s just horrible.
I want to be different. I want to lose weight. I want to have a healthy body and a healthy body image. I hope that some day soon I can write part two of this story and explain how I started to make positive strides. But every journey starts somewhere. Wherever I end up going from here, I just thought it was worth documenting my beginning.
Don’t worry. This isn’t going to become a weight-loss journal. I just needed to get this off my chest. And, now, I’m going to post it before I have a chance to back out.