Tangled Up In A Twist Of Fate 143/ A poem (sorta), the adventure continues, odd bits
Posted on March 23, 2014
October, new scale.
Shower, nude weight.
Diet planning, some loss.
Faster, need faster.
Go for gas, brain seizure.
Pull into parking lot.
Inside, talking to Dominic.
Signed up to a gym.
Buy a bag, shorts tees.
The great jockstrap hunt.
Second thoughts, bad body image.
First day, meet Eric.
Evaluation, worse than awful.
Some exercise, sweat.
Shower, first nude view in a mirror.
Feelings of inadequacy.
Second trip through.
More exercise, sweat.
Watch muscle shirts do 75 pound dumbbell curls
Barbed wire tats, kiss the bicep.
Me, ten pounds, ten reps.
Same ache and sweat.
Mirror mocks, quick showers and out.
Time passes, I hang in.
Waist drops quickly, weight slowly.
My scorn for barbed wire tats and muscle shirts grows.
I don’t want to be them.
My body image has changed, less dramatic.
I still go, bad heart and all.
Sit with half-naked men is the sauna.
They discuss exercise strategies.
I have mine.
Still avoid the mirror.
Observe the locker room.
Old hands walk around, waists toweled.
Weight lifters dress and undress in front of mirrors.
Newbies sit wrapped in towels.
Trying not to be noticed.
You want to say, “It gets better” but you respect their space.
I look in the mirror now, not a lot. Just enough.
The body is improved.
Still no bulging muscles, but trim.
Now and again women smile at me.
I still don’t quite understand why.
I’m the same person, inside.
Where were you before?
A sales woman I’ve dealt with smiles and I’m quizzical?
She says I’m good looking.
I don’t see it in the mirror.
Maybe I’m too close. Or blind to myself.
I’m a work in progress.
I’m not sure when I’ll stop.
Inside, I’ll know when I’m close.
I won’t tell anyone.
Author’s note: I don’t know squat about poetry except that I have a crush on Emily Dickenson. Critics line up to the right. If you liked it don’t tell me. It’ll feed my already bloated ego.
Last week I mentioned I joined dating sites. I met a woman, on-line. She seems nice. I really hope to love her. She and I have been hurt. I believe we can heal together. One thing though, being together is wonderful, marriage, I don’t know. She wants to meet me. I’m willing. Not at either of our homes but somewhere in the middle. I fear the “stray cat syndrome” not her so much but me. I can be dazzled into believing I’ve found nirvana and am ready to settle in without a lot of forethought. It’s happened to me before. Not ending well for me. I asked for pictures and she sent me three. A question arose: Why me? She’s attractive, me? Shaggy and rumpled. (But I clean up real good.) I sent a computer selfie. She liked it. She’s away on business and she’ll be back this week. She doesn’t live real close but close enough to make an initial date a day trip. I want to meet her in person so we can talk. We’re all great on-line, but face to face is best. We stand or fail because of ourselves. I’ll try to include my profile picture.
This computer and my back-up went into the shop this week. according to the tech I had a virus. Virus my a**. They came back worse than before. Space bar malfunctions and letters double print. In the process of finding another go-to guy nearby. I’m not going back and I’m sure as hell not recommending them.
Got a new cell phone. Finally talked to the person in the cellphone store. It’s used but I KNOW HOW TO USE THE BUGGER. Cheryl is a star. All right I said it.
Back to the in-box to see if Jessie as answered yesterday’s message.
Mets won!!!!!!! Beat the Nats 3 to 1.
Have a wonderful week. See you in the funnies.