Nevergirl’s

I don’t think about dying at 10 in the evening, gaaahd no! At 10, I’m up and about, snacking and movie marathoning… and the fact that I just made up a verb to describe what I do should clue you in that I’m never up to any good in the evenings. But today, I thought about a classmate who died, how beautiful, smart, and funny she had been, and all of a sudden, it made sense to start thinking about life insurance rates at 10pm.

In life, you’re only sure of one thing. You are born alone, and it’s also possible you’ll die alone.

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Have you heard of kettlebells? The first time I did, I thought they’re kettles – you know, the kind that you boil water in. Shows you how little I know about fitness and bulking up! You don’t use kettlebells to heat water; you use them to melt fat.

Kettlebells are made of cast iron. Can’t picture out how they look? Google, people! Or, imagine a cannonball or a bowling ball, only it comes with a handle. Oh, and here’s the most important part – it’s heavy, anywhere from 8 pounds to 88 pounds kind of heavy. If you want to get lean so fast it’s ridiculous (and build envy-inspiring muscles to boot), you use a kettlebell.

I read that the kettlebell works better than the dumbbell in that it strengthens the whole body, not just your arms. The Russian Special Forces use them. So do Russian Olympic athletes and weightlifters. And maybe, if I could only put my mind to it, so would I. Let’s see.

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I don’t know if it’s having to get up at 7:30 in the morning back when I was an office-bound wage earner, or the huge headache I find commuting to be, or the fact that our new apartment is so spacious and homey I hate leaving it, or having a baby I can’t pry myself away from for long but…

at this point in my life, I pretty much don’t want to leave the house. In fact, I need forays into the outside world about as much as I need KVM switches, which isn’t much at all.

What is this affliction called? It’s not depression; I’m too chirpy for that kind of thing. It’s not lack of motivation; I can be my own cheerleader just fine. I doubt it’s social anxiety, either, because I lost all of that the day I gave birth to two children, with medical staff and the husband present. I think it’s just lethargy, and the fact that I grocery-shop like groceries would go out of fashion the next day. With junk and soda and DVDs and my family and the AC purring like a sexy little kitten, who would want to leave?

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Some days, I think I want to live in a farm.

We’ll raise poultry, wash clothes by the river, and till the earth with the help of a trusty carabao. I’ll be that little woman who can whip up meals for an entire barrio in record time, wash stains off clothes so well she deserves her own tide commercial, and work on a garden overflowing with hydrangea, roses, and sunflowers when she’s not busy taking care of the kids or bringing the husband lunch.

Then, I catch sight of the TV, remember that I love movie marathons too much to give them up, and quickly chalk off wanting to live in a farm as one of those things better left done in daydreams.

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I can’t make up my mind which one I want more: weight loss or serenity. I can just hear the people who visit this site groaning and clucking and throwing up their hands in exasperation. Serenity versus weight loss? Is that girl crazy?

Don’t get me wrong. I think serenity is a lovely virtue; with it, I can go through life impervious to upsets big and small. However, serenity is not visible and because I mostly stay home, I rarely get upset anymore. I can’t even remember the last time I worried or obsessed over anything, unless obsessing over the dollar to peso conversion counts. So for now, I think I may have to pick weight loss over serenity and appetite suppressants over peace of mind. My mind’s at peace already; if it gets anymore peaceful, it would go on coma!

So yes, send me a 10-pound weight drop this month, big guy up there, pretty please? And send it just before Friday so I’ll have just enough time to find a dress I can wear to Iris’ wedding. After that, you can express mail me a big wake-up call to stop falling in love with dresses that are two sizes too small.

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