It’s 6:10 in the evening, and I’m rushing to get this done in thirty minutes because later I’m going out for dinner and to hear a friend play live music. This is a good exercise for a writer–try to tell a long story, try to tell a short story. (This is me trying to tell a short story.)

Last night at the gym, in addition to doing my knee rehab, I started working out my upper body. I don’t remember the last time I on-purpose did this. Maybe a few years ago. Anyway, it wasn’t pretty. When I worked out my shoulders doing lateral raises (in which you raise your arms straight out to both sides), I only used five-pound weights. Five freakin’ pounds. Granted, that exercise doesn’t require a lot of weight in order for you to feel it, but all I felt–was like a wimp. Later, when I saw a “dude” doing the same exercise with twenty pound weights, I wanted to go over and apologize. Like, I promise I’ll do better next time. As if he’d patented the movement and I were somehow an embarrassment to him.

Human are so neurotic.

Despite the voice in my head that stated otherwise, I was actually quite proud of getting started on my upper body workout. Hell, I did more last night in an hour than I have in the last three years combined. Probably just another visit or two, and my muscles will be so big I’ll need to go up a shirt size. (GRRR.) I don’t know, I think this is the deal. You’re always going to have those voices in your head telling you you’re not good enough, not as worthy enough. Call it your inner (insecure) child. But that doesn’t mean your inner (in charge) adult can’t have a say too. Hey, I’m good enough to be here. We’re doing something good for ourselves. Five pounds is five pounds. The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.

You know, shit like that.