This one makes no sense

I have been posting a lot of crap on Facebook lately and the other night, I sat down for two hours and wrote a letter to my husband, of which I have no intention of sending. I think I just have a lot on my mind. There's so much I want to do, so much I'm sick of, so many things I keep trying to change. I'm not sure where all this annoying self reflection comes from. Maybe it's a byproduct of having my birthday fall on the last day of the year.

It seems like as soon as I start thinking that things are unbearable, something presents itself to me that makes me realize that compared to most of the world, I have it made. What I'm suffering from is good old boredom. In the midst of a pity party of epic proportions, I stumbled upon an article about child sex slaves in South Africa and immediately felt like a shit. Here's a 14 year old girl, pregnant and dying of AIDS after being raped and forced into prostitution to make a profit for a pimp who's taking full advantage of the World Cup crowds. And then there's a staggering loss of life in Haiti. How shitty is your life if you live in Haiti, probably in what we'd consider abject poverty. And then BAM a massive earthquake comes along and wipes out like 100,000 people.

So yeah, I need to pull my head out of my ass and make things happen. Because I really am lucky. Oh sure, maybe things aren't perfect. Maybe my life looks nothing like what I'd like it to. Maybe some days I'm bored and lonely and feel like my brain is slowly leaking from both ears. But I have my baby. I have food and a vehicle and a roof over my head. I'm not worried about my physical safety. I have a few nice gadgets. Time is on my side. I have my health.

Which brings me to another point. I weigh just over 200 pounds, which is the heaviest I've ever been. I'm not happy at all with the way I look or feel. So I started a running program, Couch to 5k, I quit drinking soda, and I'm trying to cut down on my portion sizes and snacking. It's just that I hate to exercise. So I tried a new approach. When I'm on the treadmill, pounding along on that thing, probably looking like Horton Hears A Who running through the jungle, and loathing every second of it, I clear my mind of all that and picture three people.

First of all, my dad. Norman is in his mid 60's. He does not drink or smoke and doesn't take a single prescription drug. He's lost about 40 pounds by walking up and down the hills of Globe and recently began running. I know a lot of people his age who are almost falling apart. I think, if my 60 something year old dad can run, so can I.

Then I think of my mom. Now, this is dangerous territory and let me say that I love my mom and I'm not talking crap about her. But the picture of health she is not. She's a heavy smoker, she's on a lot of medication, she's had multiple surgeries on her feet and she's pretty inactive. So I imagine my mom and her choices and then I think of myself, choosing to exercise and choosing to make better decisions about health.

And lastly, I think about last month when I took Kimmy to her 2 year check up. We went to the Brooke Army Medical Center, which is where the pediatric clinic is located. This was a few weeks before Christmas and they had a big Christmas tree display in the front lobby. So after the appointment we stopped on the way out so she could look at the trees. And there he was. Couldn't have been more than 20 years old, sitting in a wheel chair with his head down, staring at something on his cell phone. He was missing a leg from the mid-thigh down and an arm. I think of that soldier who would probably give anything to be able to run again, who suffers with issues that I can't even begin to imagine.

And with these three faces twirling around in my head, I suck it up and feel thankful for so much, and keep plodding along, trying to make the best of things, trying not to feel sorry for myself anymore, and trying so hard to find my purpose. And lose a few pounds in the process.