Killing Two (Or More) Birds With One Stone

Had a call-in session with my shrink today.  It was after work, and since I came in Sunday evening to work some overtime, I saw that I would be filling in for someone who works a half-hour earlier than me, so I could move up the tele-session by a half-hour.  And yet, because of some driver who went over two or three lanes to take the cloverleaf ramp from one highway to another right in front of me, I tried keeping up with her, accelerating and decelerating at dangerous speeds very close to other cars.  Sadly, I couldn't keep up with her (and I only say her because a decal, "You just got passed by a girl!" set me off).  Alas, road rage insults inflicted on me by fast, dangerous cars go unanswered by me because of slow cars ... well, slower; they're the ones obeying the speed limit, not me, or that chick.

But I got to the grocery fast enough where, after I purchased food and a Coke, I made it to the parking lot and I wasn't too late to receive the call from my therapist.  Turns out, driving that fast did get me to almost on time with him, but I could just be rationalizing my bad driving, driving that seemed to have taken some miles off of my car's transmission.  It's been going funny ever since, I think.

It's that aggression, one that may or may not have been intentional by that other car, that was my first subject with my psychologist.  I then went to talking about the other passive-aggressive dudes I ran into at work.  At the end of the hour, my therapist asked me to reflect on these run-ins as well as my aggressive driving before the call and try to delve into why I did those things.  He noticed an "irritation" in me, and he thought that I have had a negative reaction to those dealings not because of something deriving from those dealings themselves, but rather they're a connection to either something else at work or something at home.

I have done a little reflection, and although I could be wrong, I think I know what it is: My sudden weight gain.  I talked about it at a glance here, but I'll rehash it: On Friday, I went to a screening that my company uses to, fingers crossed, give me the cheapest insurance rates.  I go through the whole metric rigmarole -- blood panel, blood pressure, height.  And then I weighed myself, and by God, I am the heaviest I have ever seen myself on a scale.  It didn't help that I went to see Black Widow and got a popcorn and large Coke (that came free!), then went to the Gopher soccer Match and got a hot dog and a medium-sized Coke.  I went online at work Sunday night and checked past screenings: My weight, and thus my Body Mass Index, was much more manageable the previous two years, and that includes one in the thick of the pandemic, when no one was doing anything except stay home and eat.

Ever since I could feel the weight around my waistline -- which, by the way, according to the quick but not customer-friendly tech who took all my measurements, is at a record 38 inches -- and I have been obsessed with, and enslaved by, my rotundity.  That deluxe sandwich, with several slices of deli meats packed into two delicious pieces of bread?  I was throwing the wrapper away while speaking to my doctor.  The trash can was across the parking lot.  I walked over there, and every step I took I felt my belly shifting to and fro.  I was mentally adding "doooonk, doooonk" sounds in my head as I sauntered.

I think getting fat has been really weighing on my mind.  And as I noted in the blog post linked above and linked here, I have been meaning to work out, but I haven't had the time.  Last night, for example, I was going to a stripper party to get wanked, and maybe more, by this woman I have been in contact with for several years now without having any intimate contact.

But maybe there was divine intervention that has steered me in the right direction.  By the time I got there, yesterday evening, it looked like it was cancelled.  While I drove slowly down the street and saw the house, I saw a guy get out and walk up to the side door.  When I came back to park, he was already going back to his car.  We locked eyes in a way two whoremongers could identify each other.  He started the car and drove my way, but when he got up to my parked car, he stopped and told me no one was there.  Must've all cut the party short or something.  Thanks, fellow strippermonger.

I texted the host who invited me and drove off.  I literally had my best laid plans ruined, so now what?  I thought I could go to Target to buy some creamer, then walk around a park somewhere ... but ... it then hit me ... why not go to the gym?  Sure, I wasn't wearing any underwear, but that's a small price to pay for trying to burn off some calories and jump-starting your metabolism!

So even though I had to drive 13-4 miles in a car I don't quite trust nowadays, I put in about 75 minutes on the elliptical, the yoga mat, and the bike.  Four-hundred eighty-eight calories used, according to the displays.  I don't know if I have made a dent on my belly at all.  But I like to think that any exercise is good.  More importantly, right now I feel as though I have finally done a good thing to get in shape.  Mentally thinking I am doing the right thing for myself has done wonders for my psyche, and it has lightened my mood.

So, maybe this is the projection my psychotherapist has been talking about.  Maybe my frustration over my weight gain has been the reason I tried to race that crappy car, and why I take such umbrage and these worker's micro-aggressions.  I didn't get a piece of ass, but I finally was able to exercise and lift a self-imposed mental burden off my head.  And I got to save a lot of money.  Sounds like a win-win-win to me.

Now to wean myself off of pop and other added sugars. ...