the break-up

I’ve decided to break-up with my bathroom scale. I have been very faithful in our relationship, but I feel I’ve been giving more than I’ve been receiving, and it’s time to move on.

I have been a Friday morning devotee to the scale. I wake-up, go to the bathroom (if you know what I mean), do not drink even a sip of water or breathe any air (if I breathe, I might weigh more when I step on the scale) and I get on the scale buck naked. I’ve “weighed in” for years every Friday morning. Like I said, I’m very faithful in my relationships.

So, here’s the problem:

If I’ve gained any weight, it totally funks up my day and mood. I’m all like, “Fukc it, I gained weight despite eating cottage cheese and sweating my ass off in spin class and piyo (a pilates/yoga fusion) so I might as well eat whatever the hell I feel like, cuz NOTHING is working!”

If I’ve lost any weight, I’m all like, “Oh yeah baby! I lost weight, and that means I can reward myself with a snickers bar and McFlurry and nachos today!”

Do you see where this relationship has gotten me? Yup, no where!

So, I’m breaking it off with the cheating bastard. I give and I give and I give, but what do I get? Nothing but tears and disappointment. Seriously, this is an abusive relationship, and I am saying enough is enough.

I just hope I don’t go crawling back asking the scale to take me back.

Battle of the Bulge

My grandfather was actually in the Battle of the Bulge in Dubya Dubya II.  He passed away last November, just a month or so shy of 90. 

My father passed away last January, 32 years to the day that his father, my other grandfather passed away.  My dad was 66.  He died very suddenly and unexpectedly.  And it has turned my world upside down.

I've gained 30 pounds since my dad died.  You hear about those people who waste away to nothing because of grief, and of course, I am not one of those people.  I'm the other kind, dammit.  DAMMIT.

I was already 20 pounds or so overweight before my dad passed.  That means that I am 50 pounds or so overweight.  50.  50!  50?!   (I can't believe I just wrote that for the world to see.  Then again, if you see the size of my bum, it's kind of well, umm, obvious.)

I've tried the diet plans.  The ones that ship the food to your home.  Yeah, that is fine and dandy, but when I follow up their meal with an entire sleeve of Thin Mints, I'm thinking I may not be successful.  I go to the gym often, but 'they' say that your diet is a lot more of the equation to weight loss than working out.  Figures.

My friend, Beth, just posted this about a book (Woman Food and God) about diets.  Beth sums up the book quite nicely:  Her message is simple, really: that we need to live in the present moment, that we need to be aware of ourselves and what we need and we need to feel what we truly feel.  I'm going to have to read that book.

But here's the thing, I don't want to feel the pain and the grief.  I prefer to shake (literally) the thoughts that my dad is really dead out of my head when they enter. 

Well, that way of dealing isn't quite working, obviously.  Time to reassess and make some changes.

* I just want the fat and grief to melt away like that snow on my terrace table.