It's Like I'm Getting Cockblocked From Exercising

The sad truth came at my assessment yesterday: I am as overweight as I have ever been.  I could blame all the food Father packs for me to work and Mother makes for all of us for dinner.  And I do.  But drinking so much pop and ice cream really doesn't help.  And having a regular popcorn (which is oversized) and a large Coke as I watched Black Widow at the movies, then followed that up with a hot dog and another Coke for the Gopher soccer Game afterward (Minnesota beats Baylor, 1-0!) the day before the assessment really, really doesn't help.

Right now I am going through the guilt phase I usually feel after these assessments and yearly doctor's checkups.  I haven't touched a Coke since Thursday evening; let's see how long that lasts.  But I also want -- well, need -- to exercise, and I truly am embarrassed to say that I haven't done that in over a week.

I knew I should have, and wouldn't, in the week leading up to the assessment.  I went to see the St. Paul Saints with a friend on Tuesday.  There was the Game (and visit to a strip club; I was able to fit in the movie because work got me to come in and thus leave early that day) on Thursday.  And I don't want to go out more than two evenings a week because I want to sleep in.  Yesterday/Friday would have been the night to work out, but there was a threat of storms that was supposed to start smack dab in the middle of the evening, plus it was humid as hell out there, so I decided not to go.  I don't think the weather was that bad all night.

So, how 'bout the weekend?  I could have fit in a workout this/Saturday afternoon, inbetween watching EPL at Brit's and coming home to clean my room, which is what My Fucking Father told me to do when I left this morning, fuck him.  But a Bloody Mary-induced nap in both the much more pleasant weather and the parking lot of Grandmother's friend who I visited eliminated that possibility.  I would have worked out tonight, also known as now, but I set up this Zoom thing and I have to stick around for that, and I hate how I set up my own bad timing.

Tomorrow?  I could go in the morning.  Nah, I'll sleep in.  The Gopher soccer club plays Illinois-Chicago in the afternoon.  There is Sunday night; I think the gym is now open on Sundays.  But then, out of the blue, there is work that has been offered.  Yeah, just before I walked into Brit's, I get a text message from my boss saying that we could come in today -- like, right then and there -- for overtime.  It wasn't offered all week, but somehow, I guess there were people who weren't working, or something?  I want to jump at the chance for OT, but not when it's for immediate help.  I have plans, you know?  But later, while visiting Grandmother's friend, I get another, more germane text from him opening up overtime for the weekend.  So, working out or work Sunday night?  Shit; the exercise room will still be there come Monday, but the work may not.  So work, dammit, it will be.

And I can't work Monday because I have a house party to go to Monday.  And I've got another one Wednesday.  And that's my two days.  Well, I have a different schedule Thursday and Friday, so I guess I can finally work out then.  Maybe?