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Just one of dem days

I’ve had that old Monica song from the 90’s running in my head today. Anyone else from the 90’s remember that one? “Just one of them days/That a girl goes through.” Ah, the wisdom of 90’s R&B songs. For me it’s been just one of them days when I’ve felt “blah” for no real reason and have been sitting around eating too much. Actually, I have been avoiding doing things that I should be doing by watching season 2 of Alias and eating too much. Which is odd because my life is going really great these days. I think no matter how wonderful your life is you sometimes just want to lie in bed all day and watch the spiders work on their webs instead of weaving your own projects. It’s on days like this that I feel really bad for people who suffer from chronic depression. It must be horrible to live in a hole, trying to climb out of it on a daily basis. I don’t even feel that bad, just unmotivated and in the mood for a nap. It’ll most likely be gone by tomorrow.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to think about my eating and my exercise. I wish I could just take a time out. But I can’t. It’s something I have to think about every day for the rest of my life. When I think about it like that it feels so daunting and huge. Sometimes I’m so afraid of death that I wish I could live a thousand years. But then I wonder how I could possibly entertain myself for a thousand years. Maybe I’d get really good at ping pong? If I was granted immortality, the thought of having to manage my weight for a thousand years is grueling. Just thinking about how I’ll have to manage it through menopause and other life challenges is discouraging enough. But what am I going to do? Move to a place that doesn’t have food? I’d have to launch myself into space. And even if I was floating around the planet in a geosynchronous orbit, I’d probably find a packet of dehydrated NASA-brand ice cream that some astronaut tossed out the air lock and binge on that.

While I really love having this blog, there are some days when I ask myself, “What monster have I wrought?” Some days I wish I was the only one watching my weight and not a small portion of the blogosphere. Because I don’t want to let anyone down. I want people to be able to say, “Look, PastaQueen did it!” I don’t want to be one of those people who regains the weight. I have so much sympathy for those people and I totally understand how it happens, but I do not want to join the “I-regained-100-pounds” club. Please, keep your membership cards and keep me off of the club’s mailing list.

But I also know no one expects me to be perfect, except for myself. I do not owe anything to the blogosphere. The only pressure is the pressure I put on myself, which most of the time is not that much pressure at all. But on days when I eat too much vanilla yogurt and Go Lean Crunch I do feel like I’m slipping just a bit. Like I almost twisted my ankle and I’m waving my arms out trying to avoid falling face first, splat, onto the gravel path. I haven’t fallen over yet, but it could happen and I’ve got to keep waving my arms or gravity will have its way with me. And it makes me wonder, who is that girl on the blog who is so optimistic and motivated and inspiring? Because I do not feel like her today. Maybe she is out for a run right now and will return to my body tomorrow. Maybe I should read my blog and take my own damn advice instead of sitting around feeling blah.

So I was sitting on the couch watching Jennifer Garner take down SD-6 and decide she was going to quit the CIA. But it turned out the big, bad, meanie Arvin Sloane was still out there and she had to stay on the job for God knows how long and she said, “This is never going to stop.” She looked so sad and I was like, “Word, Sydney Bristow, word. It never stops.” Ah, the wisdom of early 2000’s spy dramas.

So even though I had no desire to leave my apartment, I went for a walk. There used to be a time in my life when I could eat four slices of pizza and not feel a smidge of guilt about it, but those days are over. Which is sad in some ways but mostly not. While I hadn’t eaten any pizza, I had definitely eaten more calories than I was going to burn today, even after I took my 4 mile walk, but at least the walk would burn off some of them and hopefully make me feel a little peppier. I hadn’t gotten even half a mile down the trail before I started thinking, “You could just turn around now and go home. You don’t have to do this.” But I knew there was no turning back. If I turn back, I am screwed. Going back is not an option. If I look back, I’ll turn into a pillar of salt and somebody’s dog will come lick me up. Every step of that first mile was drudgery and I wasn’t enjoying it, but by the second mile I started to feel a bit better and by the third mile I was happy to be out there in the world and by the fourth mile I was proud to be a person who could walk four miles at all. Especially when a one-armed man ran by me and I thought, “At least you can do something about your weight. That guy’s never going to grow back his arm.”

And I’ll still probably gain weight today. And I’m never going to like that. But I will do my best tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that and hopefully I will lose weight on more days than I gain weight. As my mom always says, “Onward!” Onward we shall go because backward is not an option.

Chocolate & Vicodin: My Quest for Relief from the Headache that Wouldn't Go Away
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Jennette Fulda tells stories to the Internet about her life as a smartass, writer, weight-loss inspiration, chronic headache sufferer, and overall nice person (who is silently judging you). She does this at JennetteFulda.com now, but you can still have fun perusing her past here.

Disclaimer: I am not responsible for keyboards ruined by coffee spit-takes or forehead wrinkles caused by deep thought.

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