A few weeks ago, I had an unfortunate run in with that dumb box of springs.
It wasn't pretty.
The result of that skirmish? One big mixed up ball of mush.
Also known as my brain.
I started this post way back in April, believe it or not. And while I'm still plugging along, working to meet my daily calorie goal, trying to incorporate more protein and all the other stuff I'm supposed to eat, the run in back in April is still in my consciousness.
I've not changed my actions or behaviors. I'm still doing what I need to do to walk this recovery road. Still working to meet my recommended nutritional needs. Still following my team's guidance. Yet, my thoughts are haunted by the number I saw. The number, which hasn't changed much in nearly six months, is a number that is likely going to be mine for a while.
According to my team, it's a healthy number. It's a natural number for my body. It's where I have safely, and with healthy-ness, settled.
I get all that.
But I still don't like the number. I still wish it was smaller.
And more than that, I really, really wish I didn't care one bit about the number at all. I wish that having a strong and healthy body was good enough for my mixed up brain.