I've been debating how/when I want to get back into my workout routine. After the rough time I've had since December, I just haven't been ready. I'd hoped to feel up to it on the 1st of this month, but no, still not ready, for a few reasons which I won't go into.
By the end of the night tonight, I will have finished off all the alcohol remaining in the house. I don't plan on buying more for a while, so I think I'm close. My thought was that this time, rather than starting on the 1st of a month, I'd start on another important/significant date (such as an anniversary) as the 14th will be here shortly. I feel like having a certain meaningful date feels right for this, usually it's new years', or the beginning of a month, but I don't really want to wait for March 1st, so I'm going to start this Friday; back to exercising, and no drinking for a while.
While I was making tomorrow's breakfast tonight though, I realized something pretty crazy & I'm not sure how I feel about it. If I've counted correctly, this will be the 21st anniversary of my son's passing. That's just fucking weird to me... at some point this year, he would've been old enough to have a drink with his father. I sat there cooking, and wondering what kind of person he would've been, and what kind of father I'd have been, but can't honestly imagine either of them. Had he been born, he would've had a very challenging life, and may not even have survived, so I'm not sure it's even helpful to imagine, but there it is.
The strange thing for me now is, my sister (to whom I'm still not talking) has kids who are in their early teens (or will be soon), my coworker WJC has a daughter who is/will be 3 very soon, and I'm amazed at how fast the time goes. I still think of both of these sets of kids as the newborns I remember them to be, and I don't really understand how they can be so grown up!? Aside from the grey in my beard, I literally don't feel any older than I was when my son was in the picture. Actually, I feel better physically now than I did then; healthier, in that I'm fitter/lighter than I was, and less stressed (believe that if you can!) than I was when I was still married. I still feel like/think of myself as though I'm still in my late 20s. All these years that have passed have blurred into one long 'year' to me, and it's disorienting when I stop to think about just how long it's been/how fucking old I am.
I wonder sometimes, if maybe I never really moved on from that time, that trauma. If maybe I'm waiting for a new happiness to find me, so that I can rejoin life/the world and start to make new, better, happier memories.
I don't seem to be able to do that on my own...
8:28 p.m. - 2020-02-11
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