My Thighs
I have a pimple on my inner right thigh. Or an ingrown hair. Point is: ow. Another point: my sedentary lifestyle is starting to make itself known in other ways, like in thighs that scrape together when they used to not so much scrape together, causing me to feel, with every step, the new existence of this pimple/ingrown hair.
Of course, I didn't think much about this last night, say, when I was consuming my weight in mushroom-and-olive pizza, or stuffing Jelly Belly after Jelly Belly into my greedy mouth. And I didn't think of it yesterday at lunch when I went back for my second helping of Mongolian barbecue (which wasn't so much barbecued or made with Mongolian anything, oh, and thanks, guys, for not making a big deal out of cooking my bowl of noodles and tofu on the non-meat grill. Only not.). Or when I found myself in the kitchen at work for the third time to grab a couple more rice-crispie treats.
But in the wee small hours of the morning, when it's just me and my pimply, sore, fat thighs -- then I'm all, "Regrets...I've had a few..."
"Ah, but New Years is coming," I tell myself. Because New Years is going to make it all okay. I'll make a resolution to do something active in the mornings before work; and do something active in the evenings after work; and to spend my weekends being so active people around me will start to lose weight because I just won't have any more weight to lose. I'll be heralded as a hero by fat people the world over. And all this exercise will somehow kill my cravings for cheese and butter. All this activity will make my body demand better foods. I'll finally start having the breakfasts I've read about in all the diet books: half a slice of dry toast, weak tea, non-fat yogurt, and a fistful of laxatives.
[Mostly unrelated, but I love how my eyes are babies. While typing this entry, a stray lash or a bit of sleep got in my eye, and my eye's are all: "We need everyone in this body to immediately stop what they're doing while we and the fingers try to rectify this situation. We repeat: everyone in this body needs to stop what they're doing." Because it was totally like that. As soon as the foreign object entered my eye -- my body went stock-still and all I could think about or do was anything to get whatever it was in my eye out of my eye. Now, let's talk about my poor, be-pimpled right thigh for a second. That mofo hurts, too; but you don't see him over-reacting like my eye does. Which is fortunate, since that pimple's here for the long haul.]
Though it's probably little more than another in a long line of "I don't really want to be healthy" excuses, I feel like once Zach and I finally move already, it'll be easier to start implementing some lifestyle changes. I don't do great in flux in general, and I think that if I also start limiting calories while in the middle of upheaving my life from one apartment to another, my brain will pull an eye and stop everything until I come to my butter-and-cream laden senses.
Stupid brain.
In other, non-Mike's-a-lardass news, I'm re-reading Mansfield Park which might be my favorite Jane Austen novel (in spite of Fanny Price). I've got this whole reading plan in mind for 2006 -- but more on that another time. When I'm not so fat and feel less guilty discussing a plan where I sit on my ass reading Victorian literature.
Of course, I didn't think much about this last night, say, when I was consuming my weight in mushroom-and-olive pizza, or stuffing Jelly Belly after Jelly Belly into my greedy mouth. And I didn't think of it yesterday at lunch when I went back for my second helping of Mongolian barbecue (which wasn't so much barbecued or made with Mongolian anything, oh, and thanks, guys, for not making a big deal out of cooking my bowl of noodles and tofu on the non-meat grill. Only not.). Or when I found myself in the kitchen at work for the third time to grab a couple more rice-crispie treats.
But in the wee small hours of the morning, when it's just me and my pimply, sore, fat thighs -- then I'm all, "Regrets...I've had a few..."
"Ah, but New Years is coming," I tell myself. Because New Years is going to make it all okay. I'll make a resolution to do something active in the mornings before work; and do something active in the evenings after work; and to spend my weekends being so active people around me will start to lose weight because I just won't have any more weight to lose. I'll be heralded as a hero by fat people the world over. And all this exercise will somehow kill my cravings for cheese and butter. All this activity will make my body demand better foods. I'll finally start having the breakfasts I've read about in all the diet books: half a slice of dry toast, weak tea, non-fat yogurt, and a fistful of laxatives.
[Mostly unrelated, but I love how my eyes are babies. While typing this entry, a stray lash or a bit of sleep got in my eye, and my eye's are all: "We need everyone in this body to immediately stop what they're doing while we and the fingers try to rectify this situation. We repeat: everyone in this body needs to stop what they're doing." Because it was totally like that. As soon as the foreign object entered my eye -- my body went stock-still and all I could think about or do was anything to get whatever it was in my eye out of my eye. Now, let's talk about my poor, be-pimpled right thigh for a second. That mofo hurts, too; but you don't see him over-reacting like my eye does. Which is fortunate, since that pimple's here for the long haul.]
Though it's probably little more than another in a long line of "I don't really want to be healthy" excuses, I feel like once Zach and I finally move already, it'll be easier to start implementing some lifestyle changes. I don't do great in flux in general, and I think that if I also start limiting calories while in the middle of upheaving my life from one apartment to another, my brain will pull an eye and stop everything until I come to my butter-and-cream laden senses.
Stupid brain.
In other, non-Mike's-a-lardass news, I'm re-reading Mansfield Park which might be my favorite Jane Austen novel (in spite of Fanny Price). I've got this whole reading plan in mind for 2006 -- but more on that another time. When I'm not so fat and feel less guilty discussing a plan where I sit on my ass reading Victorian literature.
posted by Mike at 8:24 AM
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