more than you ever wanted to know
So I called in sick today, due to a combination of mind-altering PMS (or at least what I hope is PMS, because if it's not, then Oh My, We Are In Trouble) and some sort of Crud. It's either a cold or allergies, and since the mold count is low right now and that's the thing to which I am allergic, and also that someone who lives in my house caught a cold from the germ-spreaders he teaches, my money is on the cold possibility.
Do you want to know something that is freaking me out? I cannot sleep in anymore. Seriously, y'all, it's frightening. I am a person who was, not so long ago, physically unable to rise from the bed until about 10:30 or 11 a.m. (on non-workdays), and upon occasion, slept in with no problem until early afternoon. For the past few weeks, however, on days when I wasn't forced to rise at the unholy hour of 5 a.m. (and I doubt I will ever get used to that), I have not been able to sleep much past 8:00. On one or two of those mornings, I woke up at 6:30! That is not human! Who is able to do that, other than my father, who has probably never slept past 6am in his entire life and is thus abnormal?
I do not like this new regular sleep pattern thing. Not at all. I think it means I'm getting old. Sob! In two months, I will be 32! No, I cannot face it. I can't, I can't.
So anyway. I saw my neffie a few days ago, on Stupid Love Day, and I brought him a stuffed football ("but-ball!") and a stuffed baseball ("ball!") and two packs of refrigerator-magnet letters ("wha-SAT?" "That's the letter M. M stands for Mama." "MA-ma!" "That's right!" "wha-SAT?" "That's the letter F. F stands for football." "But-ball!" Etc.) which he greatly enjoyed, placing each one of them carefully on the fridge, patting the floor and ordering me, "Seetie! Down!" ("Sweetie, sit down!")(for those of you who don't know, I am Aunt Sweetie), and after putting all of the magnets up, taking great glee in maniacally knocking them all off and then saying, as if there had been some great accident that caused all the magnets to go flying, "Uh-oh."
He is cute as hell, is what I'm saying. And when my brother gets up in the middle of the night to get a drink and steps on one of those magnets, he is surely to think of me. There will also possibly be cursing, but that's what sisters are for.
There is a guy at work who just kills me with funny. He's a bellman and I have a very general idea of his age--could be anywhere from 25 to 40--but damn. He is HILARIOUS. The other day he came into my office, and I blurted, "Top of the mornin' to ya, laddie!" in a very VERY bad Irish accent, to which he deadpanned, "And to you, lass," sounding like he just stepped out of Dublin or something. I absolutely adore funny men. I swear to God, if I was at my fighting weight, I would have him.
Perhaps someday I will. Wait for me, Chris! XOXOXOXO
Sigh.
Being patient is so freaking hard, y'all. I want to be down fifty pounds by my birthday, and I'm halfway there, but still. Oy! I haven't been exercising much but that doesn't seem to be making a whole lot of difference. I can tell myself a million times that if I would just get up and take a twenty-minute walk every day that would speed things up, but I don't want to. And I could make it like, an appointment or some shit, like plan it, but then I would resent it and rebel against myself. These weight issues are deep, dark waters, y'all.
I do not harbor any illusions that I have been able to keep this up for two months now by sheer willpower alone. Whatever, dude. It is a combination of medication and psychotherapy. The Adderall curbs my appetite and throws a soothing, warm blanket over my rapid-firing brain cells, and the psychotherapy (EMDR) is slowly but steadily unknotting all the ridiculous kinks in my belief systems.
Robyn (my therapist) and I continue to do EMDR on my weight issues. They've been the target for well over two months now, ever since I made peace with my abortion. I knew that it was going to take a while to move on to the next target (Tomball), so I'm really not in any hurry and it is helping. Anyone who has had a stubborn weight problem complete with a lot of weight to lose has been told to "visualize" the slim person they want to be. I have not been able to do that for years now. That's changing now. I can visualize the body. I want the Pre-K-Fed Britney Spears's body, which I logically know I will never have because there is too much water under this particular bridge, if you know what I'm saying...but I can visualize what mine might look like, as close to hers as possible. I still can't see my face with any clarity, but I do see that my hair is long, and let me assure you, I'm working on that again. I don't ever want to go back to the all-one-length, blunt-cut, no style, but I am looking forward to doing all that girly stuff with my hair that I've never done before because I felt like a wildebeest, and they don't mess much with their hair, I don't imagine. I want the highlights and lowlights and layers. Aaah.
Y'all. Let me say this. I am concerned about my butt. I don't remember what kind of butt I had before I gained weight. I know I never had a bubble-butt like my brother does (SO. UNFAIR.), so the other possiblility is that I inherited my dad's butt, just as I inherited his face and his HUGE BONES (WILDEBEEST). My cousins reading will be able to concur: my dad's family has a flat-butt gene. I cannot remember my butt! There are no pictures in existence of my pre-fat butt (or my post-fat butt, for that matter, but I will spare y'all), so I have no idea, but (BUTT) I am so afraid that I was an inheritor of the flat-butt gene. NO! I see lots of stairs in my future, which is also scary, because I FELL DOWN STAIRS AND BROKE MY LEG. AUGH.
The only option that I can think of is a stair-stepper, but right now that is a waste of money because there is no way I could do that without dying after 1.2 minutes. I don't have much of a problem going UP stairs, but going DOWN can throw me into a panic really quickly...though I am getting better. I've been forcing myself to take stairs, and just making sure I don't get distracted, especially while walking down them.
And by now, you are all asleep. I'm sorry! I'm sick! I can't think of anything good to say!
So, butt-clenches, I guess. I'm also worried about my belly--I have really done a number on it and I worry that I'm going to have to get a tummy tuck. But why am I worrying about that now? There's absolutely nothing I can do; either I will or I won't, but I'm going to try to shove that as far over to "won't" as I can, because crunches don't cost a thing, much like J.Lo's love.
My boobs, as you know, are yet another scary deal. I have always been kind of proud of the girls, but recently I have acquired damning evidence that they have grown very far past the "big boobs are sexay" stage into the "oh my God those are freakishly huge" stage, and I do not want to get to my fighting weight only to find that they are two sad, two-thirds deflated water balloons drooping from my chestal area.
I have a lot of work to do. Cold or no cold, it's time to get started.
Do you want to know something that is freaking me out? I cannot sleep in anymore. Seriously, y'all, it's frightening. I am a person who was, not so long ago, physically unable to rise from the bed until about 10:30 or 11 a.m. (on non-workdays), and upon occasion, slept in with no problem until early afternoon. For the past few weeks, however, on days when I wasn't forced to rise at the unholy hour of 5 a.m. (and I doubt I will ever get used to that), I have not been able to sleep much past 8:00. On one or two of those mornings, I woke up at 6:30! That is not human! Who is able to do that, other than my father, who has probably never slept past 6am in his entire life and is thus abnormal?
I do not like this new regular sleep pattern thing. Not at all. I think it means I'm getting old. Sob! In two months, I will be 32! No, I cannot face it. I can't, I can't.
So anyway. I saw my neffie a few days ago, on Stupid Love Day, and I brought him a stuffed football ("but-ball!") and a stuffed baseball ("ball!") and two packs of refrigerator-magnet letters ("wha-SAT?" "That's the letter M. M stands for Mama." "MA-ma!" "That's right!" "wha-SAT?" "That's the letter F. F stands for football." "But-ball!" Etc.) which he greatly enjoyed, placing each one of them carefully on the fridge, patting the floor and ordering me, "Seetie! Down!" ("Sweetie, sit down!")(for those of you who don't know, I am Aunt Sweetie), and after putting all of the magnets up, taking great glee in maniacally knocking them all off and then saying, as if there had been some great accident that caused all the magnets to go flying, "Uh-oh."
He is cute as hell, is what I'm saying. And when my brother gets up in the middle of the night to get a drink and steps on one of those magnets, he is surely to think of me. There will also possibly be cursing, but that's what sisters are for.
There is a guy at work who just kills me with funny. He's a bellman and I have a very general idea of his age--could be anywhere from 25 to 40--but damn. He is HILARIOUS. The other day he came into my office, and I blurted, "Top of the mornin' to ya, laddie!" in a very VERY bad Irish accent, to which he deadpanned, "And to you, lass," sounding like he just stepped out of Dublin or something. I absolutely adore funny men. I swear to God, if I was at my fighting weight, I would have him.
Perhaps someday I will. Wait for me, Chris! XOXOXOXO
Sigh.
Being patient is so freaking hard, y'all. I want to be down fifty pounds by my birthday, and I'm halfway there, but still. Oy! I haven't been exercising much but that doesn't seem to be making a whole lot of difference. I can tell myself a million times that if I would just get up and take a twenty-minute walk every day that would speed things up, but I don't want to. And I could make it like, an appointment or some shit, like plan it, but then I would resent it and rebel against myself. These weight issues are deep, dark waters, y'all.
I do not harbor any illusions that I have been able to keep this up for two months now by sheer willpower alone. Whatever, dude. It is a combination of medication and psychotherapy. The Adderall curbs my appetite and throws a soothing, warm blanket over my rapid-firing brain cells, and the psychotherapy (EMDR) is slowly but steadily unknotting all the ridiculous kinks in my belief systems.
Robyn (my therapist) and I continue to do EMDR on my weight issues. They've been the target for well over two months now, ever since I made peace with my abortion. I knew that it was going to take a while to move on to the next target (Tomball), so I'm really not in any hurry and it is helping. Anyone who has had a stubborn weight problem complete with a lot of weight to lose has been told to "visualize" the slim person they want to be. I have not been able to do that for years now. That's changing now. I can visualize the body. I want the Pre-K-Fed Britney Spears's body, which I logically know I will never have because there is too much water under this particular bridge, if you know what I'm saying...but I can visualize what mine might look like, as close to hers as possible. I still can't see my face with any clarity, but I do see that my hair is long, and let me assure you, I'm working on that again. I don't ever want to go back to the all-one-length, blunt-cut, no style, but I am looking forward to doing all that girly stuff with my hair that I've never done before because I felt like a wildebeest, and they don't mess much with their hair, I don't imagine. I want the highlights and lowlights and layers. Aaah.
Y'all. Let me say this. I am concerned about my butt. I don't remember what kind of butt I had before I gained weight. I know I never had a bubble-butt like my brother does (SO. UNFAIR.), so the other possiblility is that I inherited my dad's butt, just as I inherited his face and his HUGE BONES (WILDEBEEST). My cousins reading will be able to concur: my dad's family has a flat-butt gene. I cannot remember my butt! There are no pictures in existence of my pre-fat butt (or my post-fat butt, for that matter, but I will spare y'all), so I have no idea, but (BUTT) I am so afraid that I was an inheritor of the flat-butt gene. NO! I see lots of stairs in my future, which is also scary, because I FELL DOWN STAIRS AND BROKE MY LEG. AUGH.
The only option that I can think of is a stair-stepper, but right now that is a waste of money because there is no way I could do that without dying after 1.2 minutes. I don't have much of a problem going UP stairs, but going DOWN can throw me into a panic really quickly...though I am getting better. I've been forcing myself to take stairs, and just making sure I don't get distracted, especially while walking down them.
And by now, you are all asleep. I'm sorry! I'm sick! I can't think of anything good to say!
So, butt-clenches, I guess. I'm also worried about my belly--I have really done a number on it and I worry that I'm going to have to get a tummy tuck. But why am I worrying about that now? There's absolutely nothing I can do; either I will or I won't, but I'm going to try to shove that as far over to "won't" as I can, because crunches don't cost a thing, much like J.Lo's love.
My boobs, as you know, are yet another scary deal. I have always been kind of proud of the girls, but recently I have acquired damning evidence that they have grown very far past the "big boobs are sexay" stage into the "oh my God those are freakishly huge" stage, and I do not want to get to my fighting weight only to find that they are two sad, two-thirds deflated water balloons drooping from my chestal area.
I have a lot of work to do. Cold or no cold, it's time to get started.
posted by Lori at
12:42 PM
1 Comments:
What about an elyptical???? its like a machine that works your arms and legs, not stepping but in a walking motion. You can set it to whatever resistance you want and you can pick one up for like 200.00...... Thats my goal one day, to get me one of those. I heart you lori loooooo.... heart heart heart
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