Always proofread from the original copy — that’s a valuable lesson I learned in my first after-college job. OK, roll back the calendar to April and re-read my own words: “Now the sit rep and action plan are in place; execution has begun. Process evaluation will occur daily, weekly, biweekly. Along the way Mizrizbaboo will comment on fleeting thoughts, puzzling dilemmas, and profound observations.”
Why do I feel so totally un-profound?
In the crisp spring of this journey’s start toward beginning again, the plan sound and sure, Mizrizbaboo looked to the future, to the daily duties that would help achieve better health, a better me. What now? The 12-week therapeutic lifestyle program’s completed for better health now and for a lifetime. Thirty-six pounds gone. Feeling better, for the most part, and no longer avoiding mirrors, but nowhere near done. Gut still hurts despite 14 days of four-times-a-day chewables, pill, and capsule. Important indicators turned black. Yuck! And immediately following that: 10 days of dietary detox. Day four now. Down.
Summer’s hot humidity blankets most of the country; welcome rains quench the thirst of Fondren’s plants and animals, also providing some lower temperatures. The sun’s in hiding, and a slight wind movement twists leaves and pink crepe myrtle blossoms. Only the overhead fan’s movement and whir of the computer’s fan along with the air conditioner’s hum breaks the silence
On this day, no thought at all. Dietary detox depresses. Several photographs on and around my desk recall happy days: My Sweet Baboo, suavely smiling, paused from his crossword puzzle, August 1994, Council Circle courtyard, Jawaadah juice nearby. The two of us, dressed, enjoying wine in the company of Tulane alumni at a lavish gathering on Prytania – what year: 2004, maybe? And later, probably springtime 2009, obviously at Pat O’Brien’s with bloody Marys and big smiles (him) and frizzy hair (me).
All those glasses are empty now. Despite the BB Queens wine glass I collected at our latest Dirty Santa exchange, the one emblazoned with “My Glass Will Always Be Half Full,” no glass contains anything but water. Depressing, indeed. Fruits, vegetables, legumes. Only. If this is my destination, well, I’ll just be damned! So returns the fire, the determination, the duty to continue this journey.
Going back to the original enables a timely deflection of my despondence: “For the long haul, it’s all about prevention. Prevention of disease, disability, disgruntlement, dismay, too early death. There, I’ve created and typed my new mantra; now I re-commit to living the motto. And, as for all Life’s path, I recognize that achievement is not a destination but a journey, a path, a process.”
Three days down for this latest regimen: six to go. I can do six days. Six days of denial with reading, writing, practicing tai chi, and doing deep-water aerobics. The journey continues.