Sabo-blocking

I'm blocking myself.

I haven't sat down and read a novel in months.

I don't know what's wrong with me other than the usual health scare life altering changes going on in my life. I'm so focused on my health I'm forgetting everything else. I have tunnel vision. I see my goal, I watch the scale go down. See my body changing for the better. See my doctor smile with my progress and the level of my blood pressure, and it is the only thing that occupies my mind and time.

I know I can multi task. I know I can read while I'm on the treadmill, listen to books on tape as I ride my bike. However, the desire to do these things is gone. I get on my treadmill and lose myself in the crazy wash of Netflix bingeing and old reruns. I focus on clean eating and squeezing in just a few more steps before my day is over.

It's frustrating to be so consumed. But it's for the best, for a little while anyway. Sometimes I wonder if my life-altering moment changed more than just my outlook on health. Has my desire to write been stamped out as well. Has my life changed so drastically that my one true love of writing is gone?

I wish I knew the answers...

So I'll keep taking my steps, count my calories, eat my whole clean foods, and wait, for the desire to write, for the desire for anything other than my health to take over. If it doesn't, I might start looking in a new direction. Maybe I'll write healthy cookbooks. Write about the things I struggled to find, like eating with less sodium in a country that over salts everything. I can't even eat a normal meal out without going over my daily guidelines. A salad at Applebee's barely squeaks by with 1400 mg of sodium. That is over half of what I get for the entire day. In. A. Salad.

I'm worried about us as a nation. All those extra calories, all the poisons inside the soft drinks that every restaurant supplies. What ever happened to just water. I can remember when the tiny town I grew up in didn't even have a fast food restaurant. Sad how things change and warp so quickly. How we kill ourselves in the name of convenience. Expanding waistlines, and God only knows what its doing to us chemically. The additives and growth hormones fucking with our brains ability to think, to maintain our biological clock.

I wish I could feel the urge to write it all down. To make a story. But I feel nothing but the pull to take another walk. To bundle up in warm clothes and ride my bike with Ben Howard blaring through my ear buds. I need to create. I need to find that desire that burns so bright it doesn't allow to me sleep. Where are you muse? Find me, I need to write, I need it even if the desire to do it is gone.