Nebbish Blog-Limiting Gym Nazi

AKA my husband. He wants me to stay in shape. He may not be a "provider" in all the ways I want him to be, but he's in fucking great shape and insists that I work out on a frequent basis. He's in such good shape these days it's a bit annoying. And because of him, I'm in pretty good shape. It's not that he shames me into it exactly, but he inspires a marital competitiveness. If he can do it, so can I goddam it.

To blog or to work out? To work my abs and gluts or my freakishly juvenile blogspot? It's a dilemma that won't go away no matter how tight my ass or how many pointless missives I shoot out into the void. It's a dilemma that has plagued me for decades perhaps. And perhaps I've always chosen to get up and run, and later walk, and that meant running away from the terror of completing anything substantial. I mean terror.

The clock is ticking this Monday morning and on my life and the gym nazi inside me is going to win today. The idea of becoming too soft and overweight is more terrifying than being a failed writer. At least this morning. Or maybe I just don't have anything to say. Maybe I'm terrified of the void inside me that eventually will consume me, i.e., when I die. Maybe I just want to be a regular person and go to the gym and play volleyball with the nice middle aged Asians or push myself to do a whole 50 minutes on the elliptical machine and listen to melancholic music on Pandora and stare out the window at Treasure Island.

I thought probably the only person who has read this goddam blog is my loyal husband, and yet I checked the stats expecting to see "2" readers, representing myself and him, and instead there were 106 views. Not counting me. That freaks me out. Makes me want to go run on the treadmill and pretend I misread that stat. How can that be true? Why would anyone read this?

I want to talk to you directly. I want to hear your voice. I want to know you... before I run in terror. I want to close my eyes and imagine yours, and force you to respond when I tell you I love you. When I tell you, I will always run away, but I always come back.