Day 2

Windy and rainy but still a good time for a walk in the pages of a tale.

The Tiny House Runaway

Day 2

04/22/2021

 

“The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.”
― David Foster Wallace

 

Ugh. I don’t feel like doing anything this morning. I’m sure it has a lot to do with the pain killers I took last night so I could get some Z’s due to my back. It feels better today, my back, but the pills have a way of making me drag throughout the day. It also didn’t help to wake up to the news my Aunt Lee fallen into a coma. She is not doing well, and we are not sure if she will wake up again. If she does wake up, there will be brain damage.

The idea of brain damage is my greatest fear. If I fall into a coma and they know I’m waking up with my brain jacked up, then let me go. I don’t want to wake up dumb.

I wish my morning were a bit chiller. It would have been a great way to start this day, but it is what it is, right?

I always try to find small joys in my days. Something tiny that can make me smile, like sitting under a tree with my dog while she puts her head into my lap or a book to read, or a poem that hits the right way. Sometimes, a long drive with tunes blasting into my brainpan can make the day better. I try to find something, anything.

I found it this morning when I got up with all the stress of tomorrow came crashing down on me. My family is sitting on edge about Aunt Lee. Funny little note here, I’m the only one who calls her Aunt Lee, not sure why. It is something I have done all my life. No one points it out in the family, but one of my ex-girlfriends notice it one holiday.

Anyways, I set my phone aside, climbing up from bed. My back is not fully healed, and it was a bit painfully, but I wanted to do something I haven’t done in a while. I wanted to cook for myself. I wanted to be alone in the kitchen with no one around. I have the whole of this tiny house to myself, so cooking is a joy like no other.

I’ll tell you a key to getting healthy, cook at home, stop going out so much. We need to go back to the days where going out to eat was a Sunday event, and the rest of the time was at home. I’m trying to be healthier, lose a bit of weight, and eat better.

My cool cat reader, I am about 6’2, somewhere between 312 to 314 with about 76% muscle mass, but it could be better. I got a big gut. I have always had a gut, and food, sweets, soda, are my weakest. I wish and need to lose weight. Not for the world or people; if you are basing my hottest off my body, I feel sorry for you. My mind is far sexier than this old bag of bones. But I want to lose weight for myself. I want to feel better about the person in the mirror.

Again, this is the endless war of my life; it seems like.

My brother has got into mad shape over the last year or so. I’ve watched him fight the battle to get where he is at, and I’m super proud of him. At the height of his weight, he was bigger than me, and now he almost looks like he did when he was a Devil Dog. It has been one Hell of a fight. I have seen it but watching him not give up means the world to me. (It is one of the inspirations to my health journey.)

Somedays, when I’m low on myself for the gut I have under me, I find myself comparing myself to him. I always snap out of it. You shouldn’t compare yourself to anyone but who you were yesterday. And yet, I’m the youngest, and he is the older brother. It is natural to fall into the competing game over each other; it is what sliding do; talk to my sister about it sometimes. We all do it, but we have learned, with painfully grown of age, to know it doesn’t mean anything.

As I said, I’m proud of the dude in ways I can’t always express because I suck at it. I can’t tell you how many times I have been called a robot in my life for the lack of emotions. S**t, I’ve had a fine dame break up with me because she said, and I quote, “You’re like a robot.” I shrugged and agreed.

Not so good with emotions. I’m great at bottling them up like you should do and drown them in beer, right? Healthy, yeah?

                So, I see the fight knowing I could do the same thing. I could win this battle over my health every day until kingdom, but there is something else going on with me. I don’t like my gut, the fat it holds, but there is something else I can’t stand about this meat machine I’m locked in.

                I can’t stand the scars from the fire. I’ll make the story quick because it is not always a raging good time to rap about with people. (Now the whole bloody world will know.) But when I was a wee little lad (3 or 4), my jeans catch fire, leaving me with 3^rd-degree burns on both legs. I spent about six months in a bed with the doctors, telling my mom I would never walk again. She proved them wrong; it is the story of our lives.

                When I got out, she would make me go swimming every day during the summer. I had to wear jeans in the pool because of the fresh new coat of skin that had been put on my legs. It is the only reason I can walk these days. It is also where I meet one of my childhood friends, Dain; God rest his soul.

                But no matter if I could walk or run again, the biting fire left alligator scales on my legs. Kids would make fun of me about them. I hated them, not because of the kids but because of the memories.

                They are not as big anymore, and most of the time, people can’t see them. So, they can’t see the memories, but I can. I see them all the time. I wouldn’t say I hate the scars, rather skin deep or to the depths of my soul. Facing the Reaper Man at a young age has set my life on an odd path. I wouldn’t change it for the world, but it doesn’t free me from some of the more difficult parts of the tale.

                Does make for a cool story, my cool cat reader, and that I’m always down for at the end of the day.

                You can see how the scars have left me with many issues about this meat bag we call a body. It doesn’t matter what kind of shape I get in, six-pack or no, the scars will still be there on my legs, even if you can’t see them. It is a problem I always run into when facing the idea of getting in shape.

                Stupid? Yup.

                I’m changing it, even as I write this letter to you, I can see how dumb everything I have said is about my body. Like I said before, it shouldn’t be about looks; it should be about being healthy, and I want to be healthy because I got so many stories in my head to tell you. I’ve got so many stories to live through, like finding a wife, getting married, and having kids, or going on a cross-country road trip with my ol’ man, those stories I can’t wait to live.

                Ugh. The painkillers did a great job of knocking me out, but I need to be working. I think I’ll go for a walk and read my book. Until tomorrow, my cool cat reader.

 

With a tip of the hat,

Chase