So I went to the doctor for an unrelated, but equally sucky health problem (let’s just say that I need to take off half a day from work on Friday to get a breast ultrasound done . . . fun!) and the doctor is concerned because my blood pressure is high. This is the third time I’ve had a doctor say something about this–it’s not always high, and it’s usually not when I check it at CVS, but even white coat hypertension can have a negative effect on long-term health so I want to make some positive life-style changes in an effort to improve things. Regardless, I’ll be making an appointment at a cardiologist when I get my health insurance cards to see if I need medication. But, until then, for the month of August, I figure it can’t hurt to make a few changes.

I’m too entrenched in the Health at Every Size movement to diet. Dieting scares me–in my mind, in many ways, it’s inextricably tied to self-hatred, demonizing food (and thus empowering food rather than people), and often border-line disordered eating. I have a fairly healthy relationship with food, and I’ve been feeling fairly good about my body lately, so I want to make these changes in a way that celebrates my body and takes care of it rather than harms it, or the brain attached to it.

Because I feel like writing them down will help me stick to this better, this is my plan for the month of August:

• Sweat daily, for thirty minutes or more – This should be easy enough; I already do this most days, as I walk back and forth from work, for a total of three miles. I just need to reiterate to myself that it’s important to stick with this–on weekends, or on days that I don’t walk (for whatever reason), I will substitute 1 session of callanetics or 1 hour on the Wii-fit.
• Cut down on crap drinks – At first I was going to say “no HFCS“, but the truth is that crystallized sugars and the like aren’t much better, anyway. I’ll just cut them out completely, since I don’t need them. I’ll go for things sweetened with truvia/stevia (the first non-sugar sweetener I can stand) or just plain water.
• Generally, drink more water – When I’m thirsty, I need to drink. Keep my water bottle on me at all times, and stop feeling so self-conscious that I use the office bathroom a million times a day.
• Cut down on caffeine – Lately, having more than one caffeinated drink has been making me feel cruddy, anyway. No more than one caffeinated beverage per day.
• Cut down on alcohol – If you know the MFA program, you know why this is hard. I’m close to this anyway, but I’d like keep better track of my alcohol consumption and make sure I’m not averaging more than 1 drink/day. Most weeks, I’m pretty sure, I do this anyway. But I don’t need more than three drinks to get drunk (because I’m a lightweight), and I don’t need to be drinking beer with lunch all week if I’m going to be getting drunk. So, cutting down.
• Cut down/cut out candy – Ugh, I have the worst sweet tooth ever. I’m going to try to substitute fresh and dried fruit and nuts for candy. I’ll get some and bring it to work for snackings. I feel bad that I keep stealing chocolate from another department’s candy dish, anyway.
• Check blood pressure weekly – I’m sure that I’ll be spending a lot more money on make-up at CVS thanks to this, but I need to be monitoring and seeing what’s up.

That feels like all of the lifestyle changes I can handle for one month. I need to remember that I’m doing this for me, to take care of my body, rather than as a punishment. We’ll see how it goes. I’ll let you, dear readers, know how it’s going at the end of August.

(via Tony.)

Every once in awhile someone on metafilter asks, how can an atheist or agnostic feel joy in the world? How can I be hopeful yet believe in no afterlife?

My belief in science says this: that Earth would exist, that life would evolve on it, was excruciatingly statistically unlikely. That humans would evolve to be thinking, rational, feeling, perceiving creatures unlikelier still. There could have been many permutations of life without man, or, if man existed regardless, without you–your great-grandparents might have never met, when grandma and grandpa slept together that night, a different sperm might have won and your dad might have been someone else completely. You might have never been here.

But you are here, to experience joy and pain. And I’m here, and I get to see the sky in Gainesville pinkened as the sun sinks down; I get to hold Jordan’s hand; I get to be here, telling you this.

And the unlikeliness of this (and what’s a miracle if it’s not “good things happen, though they were exceedingly unlikely to happen”) is joyful, incredibly joyful, more joyful than what any god, whatever he or she or it or them might be, could offer.