PITTSBURGH (FFD) - Monday was shaping up to be terrible. I went to work with all the grumpiness of a Big Foot waking up in a puddle of pee—with shaving cream on his hairy face.
Grumpiness when dieting
For crying out loud, there was no coffee in the house Monday. So it took me extra long to get into gear and act like a civilized human being upon waking.
The day got worse, before it got better.
I was so foggy and hazy from a busy weekend that when I got to our temporary office, I noticed that nobody was there—Did they fire everybody?
No, they did not ax the staff.
Turns out we were having an all-hands meeting in the main building and I was missing it. That jolted me to attention.
That got me into the game this week! That was the punch in the mouth, in football speak, and it kicked started my Monday.
I jumped into the Jeep and sped over to the main building and surreptitiously entered the back of the full conference room and found a seat in the last row.
Long meetings, tend to get my mind wondering.
So I got my mind wondering…
I contemplated all the things I needed to do, which I thought were slipping. What came to the top of the list was, of all the weirdest things in the world, paint cans.
Yes, rows and stacks of paint cans. They seem to be screaming at me as of late.
I am reminded of character Hannibal Lecter in the film Silence of the Lambs informing Clarice that what she ultimately wants is not to wake up in the dark, ever again, to the screaming of the lambs. She wants to silence those lambs.
Hold that thought…
As the day wore on, I made progress on work tasks and knocked out things on my task list for the day. Still, I was dogged by this nagging feeling that my ever growing list of things to do were piling up at home. Suddenly, I felt helpless to keep up with everything I need and wanted to do in my life. This journey got worse.
My mind initially started out dwelling on the mundane things I wanted and failed to do, and then it gravitated to the metaphysical—What the hell I am doing here?
I had this global vision of everything I needed to do and felt the need and pressure to do it all at once. It was daunting, if not debilitating to think about. It was a depressing thought. I began to question if I ever really accomplished or completed anything at all in my 46 years? Am I disposed to creating tasks that I will never finish?
Will I finish this season of The Football Fan’s Diet? Will this post be the last until I decide to do this all over again next year? Is my life like the film Ground Hog Day?
Evidence as of late, suggests the latter happens more often. I have been trying now for ten freaking years to loose weight, but can’t.
No matter what I try, I fail. It makes me think I want to fail.
Maybe I don’t want to lose a hundred pounds? Why? Is it easier to struggle with weight loss then to actually make the real hard health changes that are needed to loose almost a third of one’s body weight?
Maybe I love all that fat my diet wants to get rid of?
The Cans, Cans, Cans
And not to digress from the topic at hand, but lately I have been thinking of those freaking paint cans and what they symbolize. Stuff I don’t want to get done for some reason. They are like unwanted pounds.
Rows and rows of rusty cans. See the cans! The cans. Silver cans. What a mocking reminder of unfinished plans. How they sit, sit, sit in in the crowded shed at night.
On a less poetic level, there are these paint cans in the shed that I need to throw away. They have been in there for years.
Some of those old paint cans I took with me from the shed of the prior house we used to live in back in 2009. Those paint cans are symbolic for some reason that I can’t pin point. I can’t get rid of them. For some reason, I refuse to get rid of them—even one of them. I just let them collect. I let them collect like I let fat collect on me.
The rows and rows of paint can grows…
I’ll stop with the poetry… (I am irritating myself now).
The point is I can never make time to get rid of the paint cans. Why? Why do I procrastinate? Why can’t I take action?
There is always something more important and timely and urgent to do then address the paint cans. So the paint cans sit in the goddamn shed and take up room.
Of all the things I need to do, I should probably say screw it and get rid of those paint cans.
Then after that, I should loose that weight. I should write that book. I should learn to play the blues piano. Or, sadly, will all of that, remain unfinished business in my life? Will my unfinished book, will my poor health, will my other dreams and aspirations, amount to a pile of paint neglected unresolved half-filled caked paint cans in a shed?
Depressing. I know. Does that make me depressed? I think I am too busy to be depressed.
Note: I like to call depression—getting bummed out. Sounds easier to deal with.
Will the Midas Protocol ever get done? That is the science fiction book I have been working on for some time. Is it good? Some parts are okay, but maybe I am not the most objective person to appraise it.
So what I am looking for on this early Tuesday morning when the sky is still dark? I am not sure. It is a new day and I aim to make it a good one, but how?
The October weather has been summer-like for the past week and it will be today too. The top is down on the Jeep. My fifteen year old daughter has a laundry list of things to do for a dance this weekend. My son has soccer. My wife keeps us all humming along and manages to balance a full time job and keep a great house.
For my part, I offer love to the the family and I am there for them. I cut the grass and do all dad stuff too. But, lately, things are piling up.
That leak in the basement needs addressed. The light fixture in the dinning room doesn’t work. My clothes need organized and ironed.
Perhaps worse of all, there is this freaking beeping sound that intermittently pops up every hour or so on our back up battery supply for our Verizon service. The battery is dead and the annoying beep is a reminder that I will need to change it. Will I? I have this fear that I will be listening to that beep until they wheel me into a retirement home.
Of course you are asking how the hell does any of this relate to football? Isn’t this stupid blog supposed to be about football and dieting. Well, to a certain extent it is about being a man too, and what we men have to do in this world.
When football is not on TV, I tend to think about things like this, things like—paint cans.
Football on Sunday’s is a welcome diversion from getting rid of paint cans. Maybe your paint cans are something else? Maybe your paint cans are the boxes in the attic? The problem is that when it is Monday and you are already looking forward to the game on Sunday, you never get around to getting rid of paint cans.
This brings me to my next point.
I am wondering if it is simple stuff like paint cans which ultimately prevent us from achieving great things in our lives. I am wondering if the first step to achieving any of those things starts with getting rid of those freaking paint cans.