Failing

Not too long ago, I was telling somebody about the MFA program I'm in. He asked me what I've been writing about, and I told him, and he said, "So, you use your writing as a form of therapy?"

I chuckled and said, "No. I see a psychiatrist once a month as a form of therapy."

Lucky for me, this week is the week I happen to see my psychiatrist, and not a moment too soon, thanks for asking.

I apologize in advance for what may be a bit of overshare, but I figured since I have this blog, I might as well use it, right?

Anyway, I'm failing. I wrote last week about hitting a wall in my regimen. I've lost 15 or so lbs, and have been able to keep it off. But I haven't been able to really get back in a rhythm the last couple of weeks, in terms of going to the gym, eating right, etc.

Really, all I care about is being a good husband and a good dad. Losing weight and living a healthier lifestyle is one of the ways in which I can be a better husband and a better dad. It's not like I was a bad family man before I started this project, but I didn't--don't--want to be one of those dads who has to sit in an oversized chair at his daughter's soccer game, hooked up to an oxygen tank because the walk from his handicapped spot in the parking lot damn near killed him.

It's hard to work out, work, go to school two nights a week, spend time with my family, and then still find time to write solipsistic blog posts about how much weight I am or am not gaining.

No, it doesn't make me feel better having written this blog post, because writing is not therapy.

Neither is blogging, apparently.

If you need me, I'll be at the Hometown Buffet, drinking gravy with a straw.