I'm Thinking About It!!! What about you, Paris?

Well, I read about a guy who got all his books, got ready to go on his eating and weight-training program, and said he thought about it for several months before finally getting with it. I shook my head at his ineffectiveness sadly. Tonight, I'm shaking my head at me.

Well, doggone it, what did I do wrong? I didn't DO, to begin with, all the things I said I would. I pulled a Paris Hilton, and I went to that first "Lindsay Lohan" event in my life that came up last week, and it was struggle-city after that. The first chink...the first failure after the commitment makes each succeeding "slip" a little easier, and a little easier. So what is my solution for this week?

Well, I have to begin with forgiveness. Oh, that brings me back to the story of Princess Phatso, a hurt and now a revenge fantasy I've obviously hung onto for several years now. Okay, so here it is. I decided to have a frank discussion with my husband, whom I shall henceforth call Ossie (because he's a cross between an aging rockstar and an ostrich), about the giant dead horse's rotting corpse which sat in the middle of our den covered by an expensive Persian rug--- okay, that first part? A literary device called a metaphor, and it's not an expensive Persian rug, but a reasonable facsimile I found on sale at Home Depot. But I digress. What was that a metaphor for, you ask.

It was a metaphor for the subject of our complete lack of physical touch for several years. A subject we never touched upon...oh, pun intended, you bet...but as each day, week and month passed, the lump between us we carefully avoided seemed to grow bigger and bigger in my mind. So, one night, possibly fortified with my tactical defense troops, the 5th Cab Sauv and Brigadier Gen. Bombay of Sapphire, I thought by gosh, this shall not go on one more minute. And I kept broaching, and he kept slithering, and I countered, and he counter-crawled away, until finally he said, okay ya wanna know? YA WANNA KNOW WHY? because how could I possibly want to have anything to do with you now that you look like that? WHO could? And I mentioned that my body was good enough to bring home at least half and usually more of the available finances in the household, and it was agreed that was why we tolerated each other, that, and a son who was still a couple years away from graduation, and after several more heated exchanges, it was agreed we both looked forward to that day when we no longer had to pretend...and it ended with him storming from the room--- because my forte is to become quieter and quieter and more in control, and his forte is to rage and intimidate--- and he yelled back over his shoulder, just before slamming the french door hard enough to knock pictures off the wall, "PRINCESS FATSO"! So there, boys and girls, is the tale of how Princess Phatso was born.

See, I took that, and I became stronger, just by tiny, tiny steps. I let it ferment for a long time. I decided someday, when I was once again lean, and strong, and something physically desirable about me again, I would turn that intended vitriole into victory, I would metamorphose from "Fatso" into "PHATSO!", and I would have the title emblazoned in sequins on a tight-fitting, low-cut t-shirt, and I would proudly wear it, as a badge of my deliverance from my bulk. The thing I probably need to work on is getting rid of any notions of revenge, but we'll see how that plays out. We cannot burn our bridges until we arrive at them, now can we?

So maybe that is my Big Reason Why... and I'm afraid it's not good enough, Adam. Not wholesome enough. It's vindictive, and that's not right. But oh it would be so delicious. But is it doomed to fail because it is too mean-spirited? I don't know. But I do know, since I've brought it back up, and since I set my 12 months goal, I've eaten better, drank healthier, and been more encouraged overall. I am scheduled to go to the gym tomorrow. I so hope I get that done. If I can just get back on track again. I just know I can do it.