I have no good reason for not working out more because when I did go to the gym a lot, about four years ago, I often went twice a day, seven days a week. No joke. I used exercise as an escape because I’d rather work off my anger and disappointment than just sit at home stewing in it and, I also just didn’t want to see the person that happened to reside in the same house I did at the time. Avoidance at its best but, I got the healthy pay-off in the deal because when I did come home I wasn’t as irritated to find clothes on the floor and some lazy slob lounging with their dirty shoes propped up on the couch. It acted as a band-aid that hid the oozing sore I had been ignoring for years but the day came when I had to remove that temporary fix and, of course, I found yet another “good intention” gone awry.
I also have no good reason for why I’ve stuck with jobs that drained me emotionally and rewarded me very little monetarily other than the lame excuse, “I’m helping people so there’s that,” when asked why I stayed so long. Sure, I’ve helped multitudes of people in crisis over the years but who was helping me when I needed a boost? When I look back on the years I held human services-type positions I realize now that the only one that truly had my back was the wall and all it would have taken was one personal set-back to shove me over the same ledge I was talking other people down from. Scary, but true. And, as far as the reason why I never issued a fiery verbal assault on the toxic people in my life…well, I can only say that I tell myself I was being the BIGGER person. In reality I think I was just the biggest sucker but given the passage of time and distance I no longer care about having the last word with any of those people because in the grand scheme of things they really mean very LITTLE to me so I can easily set them aside and walk past without a single backward glance.
© 2012-2013 Laura A. Askew, All Rights Reserved
As a gentle reminder: People who steal the creative property of others deserve to be kicked in the tingly bits by a pissed off writer well versed in street fighting. In plain English: Don't steal my stuff!