Back in late December my doctor and my blood pressure cruelly ganged up on me. They told me my “blood pressure was too high” and I “needed to lose some weight”. I was so offended that I nearly dropped my giant bag of candy. How dare they say I wasn’t in peak physical form? Maybe I naturally have a blood pressure so high that it scares the doctor!

To be fair, my doctor was very very gentle about telling me to lose weight. She presented all the factors that can raise blood pressure, as listed on the Heart and Stroke foundation documentation, and gave me a moment to realize that all the factors I could control led back to the same goal: weight loss. She was almost too subtle about it. It would have saved us some time if she could have channeled the spirit of a gruff 1950’s doctor and said “Lose some weight, fattie!”

And let us be very frank about one thing: I was fat. Not husky, not hefty, not chubby. I used all those terms to refer to myself, in the guise of supporting a positive self-image. But for me, it was actually a way to pretend my gut wasn’t as large as it was, having grown tremendously over the last 4 years. My delusion was pretty powerful, a testament to the human mind and its ability to only see what it wants to see. I’d go to the gym and think ‘huh, this exercise shirt is shorter than I remember. Must be shrinking.’ Dear reader, it was not shrinking. I was expanding. But the crowning achievement of my motivated reasoning came as I was cooking one day. My front porch overhand of a gut brushed against the edge of a hot frying pan, giving me a small burn. And I was puzzled: Am I cooking differently? Did the pan get larger? DID THE PAN GET LARGER???? No, you deluded dingus, you got larger.

I had told myself that I’d start working on dropping the excess pounds if my doctor ever told me to. And then she did. F*#k. So I pouted for a bit, then I got down to business. I’ll give you the short version of the important part: I stopped overeating. I measure my food and eat enough calories worth of food each day that I lose a half a pound each week. It’s monotonous measuring out my meals every single day. But I know where making special exceptions and excuses will get me: right back to FatTown! Yes, even on my birthday, I kept track of my food. And yes, it did decrease my celebratory mood slightly. But you know what is a real buzz kill? Catastrophic stroke.

Well I can tell you now, after 9+ months of more exercise, more fruits and veggies, and no overeating, that they were completely right. I’ve lost 26 pounds of fat. My blood pressure has come down out of the danger zone, and my doctor has stopped looking Very Concerned when I see see her. My blood pressure isn’t low enough to get her all the way to Not Concerned yet, but I’m working on it. Do I miss gorging? You bet your sweet ass I do.

I have a couple of friends who I met during my last stretch of office work way way back last decade. I joke with them that, having spent 10+ years as a freelance writer/intensely underappreciated author, I was no longer compatible with the in-office lifestyle. I’d gone feral. Put me in an office from 9-5 and I’d spend all the time hissing at my co-workers while lurking under my desk.

But my fear now is that I’ve gone feral in a general sense. Much like a cat that’s forgotten how to be domesticated, I’m no longer sure how to get along with regular society. I gotta blame the pandemic for a big chunk of this, but not all.

You see, I started to withdraw into the hermit’s life before that. I cut out the old hobbies that just weren’t any fun anymore. Sometimes you keep doing an activity that used to be fun, in hopes it will be fun again. That’s like continuing to chew a piece of gum long after it’s lost its flavour, hoping its going to get sweet again. Chasing nostalgia. But cutting the hobbies out meant cutting contact with the hobby-related friends.

And I also decided to back away from the volunteer organization I was a part of, citing a need to focus on my professional writing career (such as it is). And again, leaving the organization meant leaving that social circle behind.

Then two years of not doing much of anything outside the house happened. I found the limits of my introversion, and then went far beyond. I know I need to re-connect with peers, acquaintances and friends, but I’m frankly clueless on where to look for them.

Sprinkled on top of this situation is the spice of getting older. I just had my 48th birthday, and there was a little bit of reflection about getting older and needing people. When you start to see the hint of the downhill slope into old age and all the challenges and heartbreaks that come with it, suddenly being a lone wolf doesn’t seem like a beneficial thing at all. Shouldn’t I have some kind of robust support network by this age? Am I so churlish and coarse? I don’t think so, but the doubt pricks at my mind in the dark hours of the night.

Instead of leaving this post as a morose meditation on isolation, I’m going to put on my positivity pants. First, I’ve identified the issue, and I’m admitting it is an issue. That’s, like, 90% of the battle right there (estimated percentage may be optimistically high). Second, I know there are many opportunities to get out and meet new people and expand my personal network. And third, I have faith that there are many people who, even though I do not see them frequently, would do what they could to help me when needed, because they know I’d do the same for them. Oh and fourth, my wife really loves me and she’s my best friend in the best possible sense.

Where oh where have I been? Sitting here, waiting for all this to blow over.

But in all the waiting and such, my writing skills have atrophied to an alarmingly dismal level. Why? Because if you don’t practice, you get worse. Oh sure, I still had creative thoughts and such. But as I have said before and as I will say repeatedly despite people telling me to stop, ideas are cheap. The hard part is wrestling the greased pig of an idea into some shape of a legible story. I need to get regular writing practice, and I love attention. I mean I loooooooove it. It’s the Me show, starring me! So this blog is back to life, baby!

You’re going to get more posts. That’s the upside. The downside is that they will be more…spontaneous (AKA the hottest of hot takes, random theories that collapse under the lightest of scrutiny, occasional recipes, fiery diatribes about video games you don’t care about, et cetera, et cetera). If you’re hoping for well researched and painstakingly polished content, you are in the wrong place amigo. I might spellcheck, but no promises.

And if you have some particular nonsense you’d like me to expound upon, let me know (comment on this post, tweet me, shout at me from a passing car, whatever).