com·mit.

[kuh-mit]

–verb (used with object)

1. to give in trust or charge; consign.
2. to consign for preservation: to commit ideas to writing; to commit a poem to memory.
3. to pledge (oneself) to a position on an issue or question; express (one’s intention, feeling, etc.): Asked if he was a candidate, he refused to commit himself.
4. to bind or obligate, as by pledge or assurance; pledge: to commit oneself to a promise; to be committed to a course of action.
5. to entrust, especially for safekeeping; commend: to commit one’s soul to god.
6. to do; perform; perpetrate: to commit an error.
7. to place in a mental institution or hospital by or as if by legal authority: He was committed on the certificate of two psychiatrists.
–verb (used without object)

8. to pledge or engage oneself: an athlete who commits to the highest standards.

I never fully knew the meaning of the word, but once I looked it up it’s funny to know how much it defines my life…even #7 some times….but basically I’m the antonym. I wouldn’t call myself a commitment-phobe; my track record says otherwise. Is it that I’m bad at it? Afraid of it? Under practiced? Who knows? (who cares).

How do we define me? Undefinable. I don’t think it’s possible. I’m not this, I’m not that, all of what, but none of huh. Everything you want, but barely attainable. Your favourite friend, and best bitch. Whatever you want me to be; none of the above.

I know a lot of things about myself – including how I fail in this wide life-sweeping category. We’re not just talking men, though of course that’s part of it, but all spokes of my wheel. Goals always help to keep me on the right track with my feet on the ground. I’ve conquered a few of my 2011 goals with many more still to nail down.

Lets examine, shall we.

We’ll start with the obvious one: men.
My long-term, loving relationship stories play out like a murder mystery. Twists and turns and many surprises along the (short) tale, and by the end there is usually blood, guts and torment. I’m a happy single, not one of those chicks that always needs a boyfriend; quite the opposite. I’m a dater. I think it goes hand in hand with liking strangers so much. A short booze-filled trip that really goes nowhere. I’ve had three ‘real’ boyfriends, only two worth shaking a stick at when it comes to fucking me up so badly. A horrible punishment that I still chat with both of them (I guess I also suck at committing to them out of my life). Of course I always say it’s him. Blame the man who doesn’t want to settle down. Or I pick the 39 y.o. divorcee with a child – did I really think that was going anywhere? The only common denominator? me.  Drawing these poorly fitting, wildly exciting men into my web before being brushed aside. Again. But do I actually want something? Yes. I want the leading man, the bestfriend, someone to laugh with, someone to change the lightbulbs, someone to cook for, someone to lay with, someone to love. But when does that come? Here I go again crushing on the unattainable. Distance plays the role of bad guy this time. And though I melt daily I actually know nothing of this gentleman more than words on a screen, and crave for an arm around me.

Finances.
Not only does it not stay in my bank account, money also isn’t in my pocket long enough to burn a hole. I really, really like buying things. Especially for others. I’m not sure there is a better feeling than giving someone something they want, even if they didn’t know previously that they did. The look of surprise and joy on people’s faces makes me warm and fuzzy.  Unless its shoes – then I only like buying those for me.

how regal.

hot.hot.hot.

Saving has been a bit ugly lately. Between one blown-up car, and buying another (which I officially paid off today. woohoo!) and my trip to see Katey in Calgary – I’m banking on the lottery. I’m not living paycheck to paycheck, I’m just not buying a penthouse and a Porche anytime soon.

Health and fitness.
I’ve mastered this. Then crashed in a spectacularly flamey blaze (currently looking to be extinguished).

same smile. different body.

Remember in February when I was committing to Jilliam Michaels’ 30 Day Shred? Ya, I didn’t. I think I made it five days. Oh and remember when I talked about using Spark People to food track? Ya, I didn’t do that either.  Unlike the first two topics this ones gets a little too deep to get into. Too many emotional and psychological ties to health and fitness and its a constant and crazy battle for me. I know the steps to be successful, I’m just not walking anywhere. Hope that I’ll soon be running 😉

I’m not saying I can fix these in a snap, but with my feet securely fastened to the ground instead of being flighty I can get a good start. I’m opening my heart, closing my wallet (and my mouth) and bring back my sugar jar.

sweet as..

If you were an (o)trt reader, you know what that is. For everyone else, it is a cute little container where I store the money I earn for working out…all taken from Angela’s blog about a workout piggy bank. I already have the pay scale figured out from the first time I took on this project. The heavy lifting is done…metaphorically speaking.

One hour of weight training = $2
Run over 5 km = $2
Yoga – 75 or 90 mins = $2
Yoga – 60 mins = $1
Walk over 5 km = $1
Elliptical/Bike over 20 minutes = $1
Run 3-5 km = $1
Group fitness class (step, zumba, etc.) = $1
Walk 3-5 km = $0.50
Elliptical/Bike under 20 mins = $0.50

This could possibly work positively to improve my three-point commitment. How? you ask. Well to earn the money (aka save) I have to work on my fitness. This saved money can go towards a plane ticket, perhaps? (and I’ll look all smokin’ hot..moreso…hello, beaches.)

Start now? No time like the present.

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