Rather than being that little steam engine who chug-a-chug-a choo choos its way up the mountain and glides down when it reaches the other side, I blast full steam ahead into a new project. What happens when you blow your wad of excitement and energy at the beginning of the race? You haven't anything left to finish it.
In school I was always great at sprints and hurdles in physical education. It's surprising that ability never encouraged me to try out for the track team. Long distance running was not my forte. My life, in general, embraces a similar facet of junior high school P.E. I get really passionate and excited about an endeavor only to not give a rat's ass about it just as I start to turn a corner. There are literally three books and two audio books that were tapped into months ago and I've yet to finish them. Short term goals and I get along famously.
Another tid-bit about Miss Riss that I recognize is this: If progress isn't apparent regularly, I peter out. If results aren't immediate, I throw in the towel. My recent weight loss is the first thing I can measure that I didn't give up on because the desired results weren't achieved in a relatively minimal amount of time. All attempts to do so in the past were laughable and futile. With that being said, as a 45 year old woman that isn't saying much. Yet, it's saying a lot with the past considered. I have a secret to tell about this though. I haven't managed to drop any more weight since I hit 40 pounds. FML. It's my own fault.
What is additionally abundantly clear about moi, is it's hard for me to focus on too many major projects simultaneously. My job as a single parent cannot be compromised. Asking me to choose between my child and .... well, anything, will get you punched in the face. Mancub is 16 now, but he's still in need of his mother. I was his age when I suddenly found myself motherless. However, my family was enormous. Mancub doesn't have siblings or a participating father to turn to. Anyway, he's non-negotiable. (Adult men can be whiny pansies when they realize they'll always take the backseat to my child. Suck it up, past and future boyfriends.) He doesn't need a man in my life to be his father. I'm woman enough to fill both roles. I'm just sayin'.
OK, I was a bit sidetracked on my "I am Marissa hear me roar" soapbox.
With my recent promotion I've let everything else of interest, other than my son, be side stepped. Though, I do have to admit Mancub has given me a smackerel flack for working so many nights rather than being home to eat dinner with him and then take him out to practice driving. Admittedly, he is justified. Food on the table and heat in the house and all that be damned, I'm all he has for stability. Working out, eating right, doing my part to fight worldwide obesity as a Team Beachbody Coach has suffered greatly.
Instead of just whining about it I am going to be diligent and proactive with my projects. I've worked way too many hours for my regular job. My health is not worth risking because of my inability or reluctance to request help. Too often my demented and sad ego gets in the way of me sharing the burden. In my case, the reward for being a martyr is flubber belly and thighs; reduced recuperative sleep; and most importantly, lack of quality time spent with Mancub.
FYI: Long term changes do not happen overnight. I said I'd be diligent. I didn't say a magic genie popped from a magic lamp and granted me three wishes. Forced changes do not bode well with my tender psyche.