Sunday, April 9, 2017

I Am Not Done With You Yet


Been away for a week. Thought I'd check in to let you know what is going through my head right now. I know you cannot live without me.

Fucking taxes have distracted me, although I found a cool online tax preparation service that is affordable and comprehensive. It walks you through the whole process by asking approximately 14, 369,999 questions.

A whole hell of a lot of questions. I have spent many hours this week walking through this shit but I learned a lot too. Almost done. Looks like we're finally going to get a refund. Because of retirement activity I had last year.

My friend Phil used to do our taxes and we always got refunds because he jury-rigged the returns in subtle ways, being the tax expert that he is. And he never charged us, being the deeply cool friend that he is.

He has moved away from that so I figured our taxes for 2013 and 2014  and we ended up owing money. Everyone questioned me, everyone called me a moron and condemned me to die. So last year I sent our taxes to Phil's son Matt who now runs the company - and we ended up owing money - and we ended up paying $200 for the privilege.

Moral of the story - never question me ever about anything I do. I am a fucking genius, a visionary and a life force to be reckoned with.      

Baseball Season: It is here. Opening day last Monday at Fenway - I had the day off, Carol came home early, I grilled some dogs, we dug the game.

I dig baseball. I do. Not in the same way as I dig football. When football season begins I start drooling like a rabid dog, screaming like a banshee and generally jumping up and down.

But football connects with winter, baseball connects with summer and therein lies the difference.

There is a sweet, peaceful feeling that the beginning of the baseball season ushers in. Thoughts of t-shirts and heat and ice cold beer on a lazy summer day; outdoor fun and easy flowing living.

No breaking your back shoveling fuck-snow, no driving off the goddamn road going to or coming from a job that compromises your dignity.

And the sport moves slowly. It is languid. Sitting in the stands under the hot sun or sitting at home in the recliner, you have time to just be - to socialize, to feel no pressure, to slip out from under what bothers you and celebrate laziness for the delicious religion that it is.

Fat Boy: I committed to health-focused insanity two weeks ago. Gotta lose the weight, I believe it is hurting me.

I am on my feet five hours a day; when I get home my right hip hurts A LOT, my right foot hurts, sometimes the back hurts. In fact as I drive home I often grimace as the pain assaults me in waves.

Weighed myself two weeks ago. Weighed in at a humiliating 189.6 pounds. Holy shit.

I started exercising like a fiend; pushing myself on the exercise bike, pushing myself with the phony baloney exercises I do to try to avoid flabby, saggy old man arms.

And I started eating cereal for lunch with lots of fruit. So the program is yogurt for breakfast, cereal for lunch, normal supper. And I was not overeating supper to make up for sacrifices earlier in the day.

I exercised 10 days out of fourteen - five days the first week, five days the second week. That is pretty damn good.

Weighed myself yesterday. My weight? 189.2. I lost 4 tenths of a pound. Not even half a pound. 4 tenths of a fucking pound.

You might think I would give up. I won't. I truly believe this extra 20 pounds is hurting me and I don't like feeling like FatBoy Malloy. Blubber belly. Whale boy.

Besides, and here comes the vanity - I have a wedding to attend in June, I have a high school reunion to attend in June (maybe). I do not want to waddle in like Jabba The Hut and have people pointing at me saying "Holy shit, here comes Joe Testa, what a fucking moose."

So I need to keep up the exercising and also tinker with what I eat at night. Jesus Christ, man - this is turning into a fucking major commitment.

What will I do if I actually get healthy?

No comments:

Post a Comment