Archive | August, 2003

If the world ended tomorrow, I’d want at least one more box of chocolate before it all went black

29 Aug

I have that whole “starting a new lifestyle” thing going on in my head right now. You know, on Monday, I’ll do suchandsuch. But right now, I am having a triple cheeseburger and a doublefudge sundae. (I’m not doing that, btw, I am just sayin’!) Studies have shown that doesn’t really work. Duh. I mean, planned binges before the big lifestyle change? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it isn’t going to work. Yet, the lure is so tempting. Just a few more brownies, one more slice of pizza, then I’ll be good forever and ever and ever.

If I lost a pound for every time I’ve done that, I wouldn’t have to worry about my weight anymore, I swear.


Procrastination Nation

27 Aug

I have been fiddling with the look of this thing for hours instead of doing work. I know! Isn’t that evil of me? I am the diva of avoidance. I can fall asleep, read a book, watch a movie I’ve seen a million times or lose myself in a game of BookWorm so fast, your head will spin. Hours upon hours of brain shutdown. It is quite a skill I have aquired.

Of course, it is always followed by twice the amount of guilt and worry because I have put off very important things. Yet another vicious cycle I need to break. Oh joy! I should make a list. Right after I choose a layout for my site.

Romancing the Pasta

26 Aug

I love noodles. Thin, wispy angel hair. Thick, sauce-grabbing fettuccine. Transparent, curry-covered rice noodles. Potato and cheese stuffed Polish dumplings. You name it, I eat it. I also adore the slightly foggy, warm calmness that follows a big bowl of pasta. It’s a delicious haze of comfort I crave every day of my life.

This is unfortunate for me, however, because I have Type II diabetes. The more white, un-enriched, bleached-flour pasta I eat, the higher my blood sugar soars. This dangerous state is what causes the cocoon of noodle peace. It’s also what causes my headaches, days, even weeks, of lethargy, depression and concentration difficulty.

One would think this sort of information would cause me to curb my pasta enthusiasm. The bad news for my future self is that it currently does nothing but make me want to eat more pasta. In fact, the Pad Thai I had for lunch today was orgasmically rice-noodlerific. As I sit typing this, I can feel the stupor over take me.

All I can think is when can I have this again? Why didn’t I eat TWO orders? I could double this feeling! Hell, slide right in to a starch-induced coma. Wouldn’t that be just grand? I wouldn’t have to deal with my chin(s) resting on my chest, my labored breathing after a flight of stairs or the inability to get comfortable in bed at night. Just the sweet foggy peace of pasta overload.

Before you ask, of course I know this is a completely insane way of thinking. Of course I understand that I am risking my health. And yes, I get that avoidance-by-coma is not the best way to deal with every day problems, especially since said coma contributes to the problem.

One would think that an intelligent, educated, woman of the world such as myself would grasp such truths and use them as fuel for change. Instead, I spin my wheels, repeating the same cycle of depression-foodcraving-overeating-weightgain-depression until I am sick with it. When will I ever learn?

Probably right after the nice big bowl of macaroni and cheese I think I’m going to have for dinner.

The Weight of Water

25 Aug

I wonder what it’s like to be comfortable in one’s skin. I have no memory of feeling like I “fit” my body. I’ve been fat so long, all the extra me has been with me for what seems like forever.

Lately, it’s been getting worse. I lie in bed at night and I can feel my chin(s) touching my chest. It makes me feel gross and like I might choke to death on myself if I don’t turn over. When I do, I have to push and mush and adjust just so I can lie comfortably. It’s like there is another annoying person in bed with me that I can’t get rid of. I wish that fat bitch would just go away and leave me in peace! She even follows me to work! Just walking down the hall makes me feel like I am on another planet. My legs don’t move how I think they should. My arms don’t rest comfortably against my sides. My breathing is labored. What’s it like to walk along, just being. I have no concept of this. Riding shotgun in a car? Forget it. The seatbelt slides into a crease in my chin(s), scraping and burning my delicate, fatty skin. I don’t know where to rest my arms. Here on my stomach? No, don’t draw attention to it! Down at my side? Suure, I love the way that makes my stomach stick out. So I slouch, wincing as I feel my spine slowly degenerate under the pressure.

I went to a water park this weekend and I had about as much fun as someone “like” me can I have. I was self conscience the whole time. I mean, really, is there a worse nightmare for an overweight person than walking around all day long in a bathing suit, surrounded by hundreds of people? Okay, maybe being *naked* but it’s a close second, I think. My discomfort with myself was magnified the whole day. I would get on rides and go slower than everyone else down the winding tunnels. At the end of rides, getting my butt out of the stupid rubber tube was a chore. I bumped my knees and elbows and found myself face first in icky water more than once. The weightlessness and serenity that I usually find in water was stripped away and I just felt like a clumsy fat clod. Let’s not even talk about the giant tower I had to climb (twice!) near the end of the day!

Did I mention my roommate pranced around in a bikini all day? Well, she did. And, you know, I love her but man. Nothing makes me feel fatter and more gross than standing next to her in regular clothes. When she’s in a bikini, I feel like I should change my name to large Marge or something. I eventually found myself seeking out people who were fatter than me just to make myself feel like less of a giantess. Following that, I felt guilty that I would find any kind of joy in someone else pain. The last thing I would want is someone giving me the once over and thanking God there was someone around fatter than them!

Of course, none of this lack of comfort caused me to take better care of myself better. In fact, I stuffed my face. I ate a footlong corn dog, almost all my fries, plus some of my friend’s chili cheese fries. Then, on the way home, I got a bacon cheeseburger, fries and a Frosty. Add that to the Frappachino that I had this morning, and I am sure my sugar is off the charts.

Why doesn’t feeling so uncomfortable, so out of place, so utterly miserable, entice me to change for the better, for good, forever?