And in case it was unclear, I’m Misery in this scenario. And I seem to be driving everyone away.

**********

Aggressive. Confrontational. Unhappy.

These aren’t words that I’d use to describe myself, but in the past month the two people closest to me have (separately) told me that, oh hell to the yeah, these words totally apply to me.

It was easy for me to tell myself that the first person who told me this was full of crap. I immediately went on the defensive, turned the situation around and aggressively denied that I was aggressive.

In the last 24 hours, someone else told me that I’m über-aggressive, argumentative, confrontational and clearly unhappy.

My first response? “Go fuck yourself!”

Awesome, right? I have no idea where the hell they get off saying these things to me. I’m clearly not aggressive.

Ehem.

So now it’s two against one. I’m clearly in the minority on this one. These two people know me pretty well, so if they think I’m this angry person looking for fights, then I guess I need to take a look at myself.

**********

I’m not depressed. I’m not particularly unhappy. But in the past two years I made some changes in my life, and as a result, my routine changed quite a bit.

I used to work out all the time. I was so dedicated to hitting the gym three to four times a week that I was pretty inflexible with my plans—if my husband called and spontaneously invited me to go out for dinner or something, if I was already set on going to the gym, I did. It was my hour or so to myself and I think I clung to that. Plus, it was practically a job requirement for me to work out, which was a great motivation to take care of myself.

Gotta do my Jane Fonda

When I switched jobs, my schedule became unpredictable and it got harder to get to the gym regularly. Around the time I started that new job, our dog Callie passed away. Not long after, we got Gracie, and dealing with a puppy (and a new job) became more work than I realized. Plus, my weekends pretty quickly were taken over by dog shows, and weeknights leading up to shows were dedicated to grooming her.

In the blink of an eye, two years passed and I’ve set foot in the gym only a dozen times.

I feel like shit.

I’m tired all of the time. I’m sick all the time. I have no energy. That mixture makes a cocktail of equal parts cranky and aggressive. Being sick and tired all the time annoys everyone around me because it all just gets fucking old.

So today I hit the gym. I didn’t feel like going but I talked myself into it.

When I lumbered up the stairs to the workout room, I cranked up my iPod and hit it hard. I did some cardio and weights, but then I found the heavy bag and wailed on it. I used to take a boxing class and it was such a great workout and a phenomenal release for any aggressions.

I’m tired but it’s a different kind of tired. I feel good. I feel like I’ve accomplished something. My blood is pulsing through my body and the oxygen is flowing, which is giving me more energy. And I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.

Tonight I’m going to pack my gym bag and put it in my trunk. That way I have no excuses.

I hope this is the answer. I hope getting back to they gym will help me channel my energy more productively because I don’t allow a lot of people to get too close, so if I manage to drive two people away, that leaves…well, me. And I can’t stand myself that much either, so I’m screwed.

**********

UPDATE: This morning I woke up all happy and well-rested (and more than a little sore) after training yesterday. I was determined to be all kinds of happy and non-confrontational, but the first words out of my husband’s mouth to me were totally sarcastic. No “Good morning! How did you sleep?” Instead, he jumped into my shit about something. I swear to God, throwing that out there at me first thing in the morning is equivalent to putting a full bottle of vodka and a jar of olives in front of an alcoholic. I’m powerless.