diet

That’s When Everything Went Dark

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I started my diet again (yes, AGAIN and shut up, you naturally skinny bastards) today.  I don’t even deserve to whine to you good people about the weight I’ve put back on this year.  So I won’t.  Well, I kind of will.  Here’s how my day went in private thoughts, conversations and texts.  Upon review, I may have a love/hate relationship with Delta Burke and I may be willing to go to prison if I’ll lose weight.  Being fungry makes you do stupid stuff, y’all.

7:00 a.m. – Weigh in was good, I lost 2.2 pounds.  I got this shit on lock.

9:45 a.m. – (thinking to myself as I was getting dressed to take E to the airport):  When your Delta Burke panties don’t fit anymore, you are in some seriously deep shit.

10:30 a.m. – (still thinking to myself because E went all Sigmund Freud on me and told me to be ready at 10:00 a.m. when he really needed me to be ready by 11:00 a.m. and hadn’t even started packing yet.  This reverse psychology fuckery will not be forgotten, damn it):  Don’t judge me until you’ve waddled a mile in my Delta Burke panties.

11:00 a.m. (Headed out the door when E asked me why I had packed a small cooler):  “I have 4 bottles of water, an Atkins chocolate shake, and a cheese stick – in case of a fat girl emergency while I’m running errands today.”

12:30 p.m. (bargaining with myself by using everything I’ve learned from movies about talking someone off a ledge, literally):  Man, that Atkins chocolate shake was way too much.  I can’t believe that was only one serving.  I’m stuffed.

1:00 p.m. – That cheese stick is for an emergency.  Stop it.  Stop thinking about it.  Right now.

2:00 p.m. – Drink another bottle of water.  You’re not hungry.  You’re dehydrated.

2:30 p.m. – Oh dear God, thank you.  Sonic Happy Hour.

2:32 p.m. –  You will order the fried mozarella sticks over my dead, cushy, artery clogged body, you son of a bitch!

2:37 p.m. – Demons vanquished, I head to school pickup victorious sans greasy fried fat sticks but sucking on a Route 44 Diet Coke like it is literally the last dick on Earth.

5:00 p.m. – Eating every last crumb in my Chick Fil A nugget meal (small fries) because if I have to count this shit on my calorie log, I’m not going to miss a damned thing.  Also, I feel old as dirt and consider asking for the Senior Citizen Early Bird speical due to the fact that I’m eating before 6:00 p.m. because that’s what Bob Harper says to do.  Fuck you, Bob Harper.

6:00 p.m. – Returning three pairs of yoga pants to Ross and feeling stabby because 1)  They were too tight.  2)  How in the hell are YOGA PANTS too tight?!  3)  Does that bitch Delta Burke make yoga pants?  4)  Do they have to put every mother fucking package of cookies they have right in the God forsaken register line?  Son of a whore!

6:47 p.m. – How many Skinny Cows will make me a Fat Cow?

7:00 p.m. – I turn to my friend Lulu for help via Facebook Messenger.  I’m the blue text.

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And that’s when everything went dark.  I did wake up with both of my tits, though.  Glass is half full, y’all.  You know that’s my motto.

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I’m sorry for yelling at you when I was sleepy and fungry/hangry, E.  Lulu, thank you for listening to me and encouraging me to start doing meth.  I feel good about it and think it may work.  Fingers crossed.  And because once is never enough:  Fuck you, Bob Harper.  Also, make your panties stretchier, Delta Burke.  I don’t buy that shit for looks.

God, I’m fungry.

Hips don’t lie. And neither does my ginormous ass.

I’ve been on a “journey” (I hate that fucking word when it comes to most anything due to its abuse by millions of women everywhere but there it is) with my weight for years.  I had lost almost 100 pounds, total, as of last summer.  I lost it after several years of amazing victories despite myself.  There were also amazing defeats, obviously, which is why it took several years but this failure takes the cake.  And Krispy Kreme doughnuts.  And pizza.  I have gained back, as of Monday, 42 pounds of that weight.  I have gained almost half of what I lost in total.

I was talking with my friend Kari on the phone yesterday for a good while and although we didn’t linger on my epic weight “journey” failure, I realized after I talked to her that I felt much better.  It was like confessional.  It’s like I’m not trying to be a closet failure anymore, I’m owning it.  Don’t misunderstand me.  If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you’ve seen my pictures.  You know I’ve put on weight since last summer.  Of course, we all try to choose the best photos to post but there’s no hiding weight gain like that eventually and even if you can, the scale will wake you up with the cold, hard, brutal numbers when you finally take that step to face reality.

As therapeutic as the conversation with Kari was, I feel the need for more confession.  I haven’t wanted to write blog posts lately.  We were on vacation in Orlando all last week but it’s more than that.  I’m angry at myself.  I hurt myself more than any enemy ever could.  I sabotaged myself in a way no one else could ever do, even if they tried.  I don’t exactly feel like coming here to make my regular four readers laugh, as much as I love you all.

Kari and I also discussed the “flavors” of different blogs.  Some are funny.  Some are serious.  Some will send you on a downward spiral into hell from which it could take days to come back from.  I don’t really “do” serious.  My teenage son is autistic, has Crohn’s, G6PD, migraines and epilepsy.  E and I have nearly lost both of our children, on more than one occasion, to medical issues that Doctors told us “almost never happen”.  I’m kind of done with serious.  I’ve had it with drama.  There is enough drama and sadness and tragedy in this world already.  I don’t want to put more sadness out there.  I don’t want anyone to walk away from my blog more depressed than they were before they came here.  I want to make you laugh.  I want to make your day better.  I don’t want to be the shit on your shit sandwich or your Debbie Downer.

But I’m human, too.  I have to unload this burden so I can move on.  And I know this isn’t the worst thing to happen to anyone.  Please don’t think I’m not sitting here feeling like a giant (literally) ass hole.  Because there are women out there at this very minute being told they have breast cancer.  Or that their child is dying.  Or that their husband has decided to leave them.  There are people burying their last parent today.  I do have some perspective on this.

I started a very intense diet (again) on Monday.  Due to the added weight and high impact exercise I should not even have attempted in the last few months, my knee is jacked up now but I will start low impact exercise today and get back in the gym.  I am happy to report that I am down 4.6 pounds so far this week and that’s a start.  If any of you write that off as “water weight”, I will come to your house and sit on you while eating a Krispy Kreme doughnut, fuckers.  I’m not even kidding.  Okay, I would only eat a rice cake but it’ll still hurt you like hell.  So just don’t do it.

Thank you for reading this.  I feel so much better, like after I get good and drunk on wine with my best friend Sylvia and then spend the next couple hours literally blubbering and ugly crying on her.  Yes, she’s a Saint and it’s only happened once (the blubbering and ugly crying, the wine thing has happened a lot.  A LOT.) but it was very purifying and this blog post has done much the same thing for me.

This is not a weight/fitness blog, obviously, but I will keep you updated on my progress every once in a while.

Love yourself, no matter what your struggle is right now.  Be kind to yourself today.  I love you all.