3.5.00

50% Tae, 50% Bo

I admit it - I'm a pathetic weakling.

It took me 15 minutes to come to this realisation. Like so many other unfit, chubby-bunny types out there, I was sucked in completely by the infomercialtastic bandwagon known as Tae-Bo, and for about a year I was led to believe that it would be more fun than any other kind of exercise available to me. Sure, I had an expensive ski-machine type device gathering dust in my bedroom, crying out for me to throw on the soundtrack to "The Matrix" and glide back and forth for a half hour everyday, pleading with me to let it strengthen and slim my thighs, hips and buttocks, and give me some muscle definition in my arms - but Tae-Bo looked dynamic! Interesting! Powerful! Cool! Why settle for a piece of stationary gym equipment when I could kick and punch and feel like I was actually doing something?

I've had the introductory and basic workout Tae-Bo videos for three weeks. They've been gathering dust on top of the tv, mocking me everytime I walk past, usually whilst on my way to the kitchen so I can grab another snack. So this morning at 3:30am - bored out of my mind because I'd already cleaned the livingroom and part of the kitchen and wasn't even tired yet - I popped the first tape into the VCR. I was charged up, ready to go the distance and partake of some kick-butt exercise action.

I made it as far as a combination of three punches and a leg raise before I gave up.

This is by no means the end of my Tae-Bo-ing; I'm just going to rest for a little while and consider wearing proper workout gear - and indeed, shoes - the next time I try.

Tomorrow, I promise.

This afternoon found me sprawled out on my bed, sobbing noisily into a pillow and gulping for breath. I'd known ever since I arrived here that to be able to marry Nathan, I'd have to return to Australia in order to apply for a fiancee visa; what hadn't taken root in my head was the amount of time I might end up staying there. I was thinking perhaps two weeks at the most - so when Nathan uttered the words "three" and "months", I slipped into a pool of slight hysteria.

I don't want to go back there by myself. I'm not sure I want to go back there at all - not just now, not for a little while. In the short time I've been here, I've begun to settle, and I like it here. I still love and adore Australia - as the song goes, I still call Australia home*... but I don't want to be seperated from Nathan, not again. We had to maintain our relationship online for close to two years whilst we worked and scrimped to get the money saved to be together, and I was regularly filled with a feeling of despair, afraid that something would happen to prevent us from being with each other.

I don't want to go through that darkness again... but I know I have to, and I will. Perhaps this time around it won't be such a lonely road, and it won't be three months. That's the worst case scenario anyway; if we get our research done right away, perhaps the paperwork won't take so long to go through, and we'll be seperated for maybe two or three weeks.

I'll keep praying.

In the meanwhile, though, I have quite a bit of free time on my hands. A visit to a dusty, romance-crammed used-book store and a livingroom shelf filled with all sorts of volumes reminded me of my past as a bookworm; this is the interest I've been taken with for the last couple of days. I have two books going at once: Maeve Binchy's "The Glass Lake", and Marion Zimmer Bradley's "The Shadow Matrix". In "The Glass Lake", The main character is Kit McMahon, a girl of twelve who suffers from grief and guilt when she loses her mother. So far it's proving to be compulsive reading - casually written yet steeped in emotion. I'm only about a hundred pages in, which is better than the ten pages I've waded through in "The Shadow Matrix" - an odd blend of science fiction and medieval lore, which - unbeknownst to me at the time of purchase - is part of a bigger series called "Darkover", so it doesn't make a lot of sense at this point in time. I shall persevere, though... if I end up finishing either of these, they'll be the first large-ish novels (not counting Christopher Pike books!) I've read completely since I ditched university second time around. That makes me feel rather pathetic, but it's a slow path to being my old literary-aware self again.

Well, rest/sleep calls. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in god only knows how long... in case you're planning on staying up late, or you're not in my timezone, here - go and read Spill. Just don't call it a journal. It's not. (Get the explanation here. Wren is just... just... good.)

Goodnight..!

* "I Still Call Australia Home", a song by Peter Allen, the late, gay caberet singer somewhat famous for marrying Liza Minelli, once upon a time.