I didn’t want to do it.

I had New Year’s week off and I promised my kids I wouldn’t turn on my computer. We were going to do fun stuff, I was going to go to the gym every day, we were going to sleep in, catch up on everything that has fallen behind, and start 2014 off with a clean slate. I was going to roll it in with positivity and light.

Pffft.

Instead, on my daughter’s 15th birthday, December 29th, I started to feel not great. I was already not great, but this was especially not great. If you’re keeping track, my vacation started on December 30th.

I won’t go into how I spent four days freezing cold despite layer upon layer of clothes and blankets and constant ingestion of herbal tea. I won’t tell you how I could barely move from room to room without having to sit down and catch my breath, how I still cough so hard I vomit, or that I’m in a whole lot of pain from a combination of bronchitis and pleurisy (with a sinus infection thrown in for good measure). Wait, I guess I just told you.

We’re now six days into this year – so 2014, that’s how we gonna do?

Oh, wait. You had to throw in a polar vortex. It’s like Day After Tomorrow in my front yard and I’ve spent less than TWO hours outside of my house in the last SEVEN days. You’re going to make sure I make it eight, eh? If you were a Sooner and I was wearing boots, I’d dive-bomb you and start kicking. You and I are going to roll. Just not yet because I can’t breathe, but when I can …

What I want is some positivity and light. I want a fresh start and not this hacking cough, no sleep, and kids who can’t even sit on the couch next to their sick mother. I want changes that I can’t make when I’m lying in bed.

I want my 2014 back. One way or another I will get it, and this revenge is going to be so, so sweet.

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At 2:45am this morning I woke from a nightmare about the movie Se7en. If you never saw it, then protect your psyche and DON’T. I can’t tell you exactly what was going on in my dream other than the gluttony scene, likely because I’m three days into some major lifestyle changes (again). I’m starting to feel like that big dude who was forced to eat himself to death. I digress.

The difference between me and someone who doesn’t suffer from anxiety is that I woke up and logically thought that because I was having this nightmare it meant someone was in the house. Probably Kevin Spacey. With a box.

From 2:45am until 4:30am, between stolen glances into the hallway to look for a killer, and playing games of Candy Crush, I tried to tell myself that I was being ridiculous. It’s the same thing I tell myself whenever I get in my car, or drop my daughter off at school, or many other normal tasks where I perceive danger.

Maybe it will benefit me someday; like if someone tries to attack us in church. I may be the only one with a plan to use the candleholders next to the altar as weapons. Fair warning, attackers.

Do you count how many rows you need to climb over to get to the airplane exit in case your pilot lands on the Hudson River? I do. Note, I said “climb over” because everyone else will be messing around in the aisle. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Maybe our fire escape plan will actually work because I’ve gone over it time and time again in my head. I know exactly how I’m going to throw my children to my husband and then jump into a bush. Of course, my daughter is almost 15 and I’m pretty sure I can’t throw her on an average day, but in a fire? That girl is getting tossed.

Now that I think about it, my anxiety has me uber prepared to handle all kinds of situations.

So bring it, Kevin Spacey. I’ll be the one wide-awake.

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I read this post today and I feel the need to tell Heather that she is not alone in her imperfection and that her flaws are what make her human. We are not just our Facebook photos or Pinterest boards. We are real people with real issues. I could write a series of blog posts on medical bills alone. Also, zits at 42. I could tell you all about that.

So for Heather, I’m sharing some of my recent non-spectacular moments:

• I yelled at my kids today – like loud enough that the neighbors could hear. It was the result of two hours in the car, their constant bickering, 5:30pm traffic, and a stinkbug.

•  I gave myself a manicure while on Ambien. Again. It wasn’t pretty.

• There is a package of toilet paper sitting on my dresser. My dresser is not near any of the toilets.

• My kids eat mac & cheese from a box at least once a week.

• I suffer from pretty awful anxiety and insomnia. I grind my teeth, I pick my cuticles, I constantly shake my legs, and as soon as I get up in the morning I start thinking about how much I want it to be nighttime so I can go back to bed. Life is hard. But, it could always be harder and if I didn’t laugh about the crazy circumstances I wouldn’t be able to function.

• Sometimes I get wedgies.

• My son loves his new school, but he’s been punched twice and pushed to the ground by a high-school kid and it scares me, because I don’t want to have to hurt any children.

• This is a conversation I had with my son today:

Me: You can NOT send your status updates from the “Pocket Frogs” app to my Twitter account. I’ve told you that before and if you do it again, you will never, ever get to play another game on the iPad. Understood?

Him: Never? But, what if you’re dead?

check it out? I can’t even pronounce it.

• This is a conversation my son had with his County Developmental Disability Coordinator when she asked him (kind of ridiculous, but mandatory) questions about his self-care:

Coordinator: Do you shave yet?

Him: No, but I have a little mustache. And, I have a very, very hairy back.

• I ran three miles today and I had to stop ten times.

• I prefer to show people that I’m flawed, because then I can exceed their expectations. Sometimes. My house can never exceed expectations because it smells like burnt coffee and dog feet.

Now it’s your turn. Tell me something real.

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Dear Mr. Personal Trainer,

I’m coming in to see you today after six months of, mostly, sitting on my hind end. And, by mostly I mean completely. I understand that you want to know my history and goals, so here goes.

I maintained a normal weight until just after my 26th birthday. Then I got married, had a high-stress career, renovated a house, had a preemie baby and blamed every pound I gained on each of those things. I had no time and no energy.

Then I had another baby and he was um…kind of difficult…even if I had had the time and energy, I would have taken it and put it into making him better, stronger, healthier, smarter and more typical. It turns out that ten years and ten surgeries later I realize that I like him just the way he is, which is sickly, tiny and kind of quirky, but that’s a whole different letter.

How I got here is beside the point; it’s where I want to go that matters. Eight months ago my high cholesterol sent me into the waiting arms of a vegan diet. Now I have a relationship with beans that I never thought possible. Also, my cholesterol dropped 160 points in three months. Without meds. Me and beans? We kind of love each other.

I joined your gym in January and started working out with a trainer and spent hours there each week. But, then the trainer got moved to another position and I got whooping cough, then summer came and that’s my SUPER busy season at the job I love and am passionate about. I had a hard time peeling myself away from my computer screen. And, once again, as I have countless times over the last decade, I fell into a vicious cycle of excuses.

I want this bad. I want good health, a long life and I want to be strong again. I wouldn’t mind if you could throw in some quickness and good balance, but if you could just get me to a point where it’s not a nightmare to get dressed each day, that would be great.

I take Zoloft and Ambien (see aforementioned paragraphs mentioning kids) and I know the anti-anxiety meds aren’t conducive to weight loss, but they also help me sit and watch mindless TV like Wheel of Fortune without grinding my teeth and clenching every muscle in my body. If you asked me whether I wanted to go back to feeling like I was always on the verge of a panic attack or be fat, I would chose the fatness. So, we have to work around that.

I like beer. A lot. I like chocolate. A lot. I also like vegetables and feel strong enough about my health to become a vegan and stick to that completely. But, please don’t ask me to give up beer. Or chocolate. Or coffee.

I would love to run a half marathon someday, but only a half because I think a full marathon is crazy. Plus I have asthma, so I don’t even think full marathons are allowed. Just sayin’. Oh, and I’m 41. FORTY-ONE, which is to say that I feel very middle-aged and if I don’t turn this around FOR REAL this time, I won’t ever do it.

I still have a whole life to live and so many places I want to go and a zillion things I want to do, but I won’t do any of them happily unless I can fix myself and I don’t know how to do that. I want you to help me get to a point where I can stop hating myself.

So, there you go.

No pressure.

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