Twisted Sheets

Ha!! Ya perverts! Its not about that. Those with generalized anxiety know what I am talking about. It was one of those nights where you lay in bed tossing and turning because your brain is going a million miles an hour, over and over the most random crap. It also didn't help I tweeked my shoulder again so I really couldn't get comfortable and Jeremy is on swings...so...

Anyways, the anxiety started yesterday at the gym. I go to one of those mega gyms that has the full gamet of characters from the busty dumb blonde to the 500lbs man and everything beyond and in between. Its a great gym. Tons of classes, equiptment, and a great smoothie bar. Well I was sweating it out on the treadmill (and by sweating it out mean you could see the outline of my sports bra as a big dry spot in the center of the sweat). Sweat is running down my face and the back of my legs, my face has the angry look of "if you touch me I will kill you and Hey! Twitchy guy next to me, quit looking!!" I am coming to the end of my ardous run when this chick with zero body fat (ok maybe there was a little cellulite on the back of her legs), gets on the elipical in front of me. She's working for 15 mins and doesn't break a bloodly sweat in her little booty shorts!! At that pointed I am exhausted and soaked and looking at the back of the this chick thinking "Ah, hell, whats the fucking point!?" I start my cool down and the "the fucking point" walks right in front of me...all 300lbs of her, clutching a large soda, a gossip magazine, and chatting away on her cell phone. She finds the nearest stationary bike and sets it to the lowest level and starts to petal fast enough to keep the machine going, but slow enough to enable her to maintain her conversation. At that point I start planning my weight lifting circut and my workout for the next day.

The incident at the gym got me to thinking that night. Everyone says at some point in time in your life, you just stop caring what others think about you and start enjoying what you were given. When exactly do we get to that point? I looked at myself in the mirror that night before getting into the shower and thought "At the age of 26 I am past my peak...in fact I don't think I even reached one." I stared glumly at the cellulite on the sides of my thighs and fanny, that no matter how far I run or how many weights I lift, will never go away. My belly, that on a good day its flat, but I know when I have children...it will never go back. My execptionally broad shoulders, mismatched by the trademark small chest size that comes with the Vaughn genes. The blemishes on my skin and on my face that I sat through laser torture to get rid of, the flappy arms that don't respond to the weights, the beginnings of crows feet sprouting from the dark circles under my eyes, to the grey hair hidden under my fresh highlights. Yep. Crap. At what point in time do I get to say "Fuck you!" to the "man" or well...woman or both that decided that beauty is perfection and 26 is old? When do I get to find a pair of jeans that not only fit my weirdly bubbled fanny, but are small enough to fit around my waist? When do I get to find a blouse in my size that doesn't do the funny button thing over my chest, without me having to go a whole size bigger? When do I get the respect I deserve for working my butt off at the gym, restricting my cheeseburger intake, and generally giving up tasty fat soaked foods? When do I get my chance to walk around and feel beautiful!?

Which brought me to the next thing that raced through my head. That night I slumped on the sofa and watched "LA Ink". The retarded new shop manager (really stupid and really ugly) wanted to have a baby with or without a husband/ boyfriend. She said she was trying for that white picket fence thing, but at the age of 33 it wasn't happening. In a way I felt bad for her, but on the other hand if you saw the show you would totally understand why she is where she is in life. Anyways, the reason I felt bad was, because of the GAD, I started think about, what if, God Forbid, I find myself in that situation? Past 30 and single, with my clock ticking like a time bomb? I would never have a child with out being married, but in this day and age most people are holding off on marriage and kids until past 35. That doesn't work for me. Plus most men these days are looking for someone to have "fun" with, not to bring home to mom. So what would I do if I found myself on a first date like the shop manager did, being asked what I am looking for in a relationship. Do I be honest like she was (when it came out of her mouth it sounded sort of stupid)? Or do I claim I don't know? In the end it doesn't really matter what I would do because I won't find myself in that situation since I am married and intend on being so for the rest of my life. (I love you honey!!!!) But for the sake of conversation, I think I would be honest. If a guy can't handle something serious then why waste the time?

Then the next thought was of wasting time. At the age of 26 what exactly have I accomplished? A degree, a marriage, two houses, but what about all the childhood dreams? Writing a book? Finishing my reading list (might not ever be possible)? Learning to sword fight? Thats when I finally fell asleep.