This is the post where you read the first paragraph and last and then leave me a nice little comment, pretending you read every word. As sad as it may be, I’m ok with that.
You could probably tell that I was a bit depressed last week. Now when I say depressed, I mean that I spent the week feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in self-induced patheticness. I don’t mean that I was suffering from depression, despite what the Cymbalta commercial told me.
I didn’t forget to shower for a week or change out of my pajamas. Well, I change by at least noon, but if you drop by earlier in the day, there’s a pretty good chance you will find me in gray, paint-stained yoga pants and a moose sweatshirt, minus its’ front pouchy pocket. It’s just as well the pocket tore off, because I think it was adding unnecessary bulkiness to my mid-section. I’m not sure belly bulk matters when you’re wearing a moose on your chest, but still. In my estimation, wearing yoga pants until noon is NOT a fashion faux pas, since I am always on the verge of spontaneous exercise.
Speaking of exercise, I am the only person who just gained weight on this diet challenge that I am on. I swear on my mother’s once sacred lamp that I do not know how it happened. I’ve been watching every bite that goes through my lips…watching them land right on my hips. I give up! I’m checking into the cost involved with liposuction. Perhaps I can become part of a clinical fat depletion trial and get a discount. Is it possible to donate fat to the needy?
I’m confident that I could bring both these young women up to an average weight and still fit into my jeans.
Getting back to my problems…
I’m avidly avoiding the exercise queen, because I don’t want to fess up to the fact that I fell off the wagon; however, I know it’s only a matter of time before she catches me. Unfortunately if she looks for me here, I’ll never be able to talk my way out of these three pounds.
It’s ironic that amidst my gloom, I found solace in the kitchen. I’ve been on a fabulous cooking cycle that has resulted in my freezer filling with containers of various cookies, three pound pancakes guaranteed to keep you full for at least four hours, and a few Mexican flavored meals.
FringePup loves Mexican. Drizzle a little enchilada sauce on a napkin and you’d think I was Julia Child. If only everyone were as easy to please as my pooch, I’d be a star.
I am pleased to tell you that I’ve made it out of the pit of despair, so there’ s no need to send St. John’s Wart in bulk. Besides, there’s no time for sadness this week. I have a cookie contest to win, there’s a town-wide Christmas party Saturday, and my mother is coming for the weekend.
She’s abandoning me for Christmas, so this weekend is her attempt to make up for the fact that her only daughter will spend Christmas without any extended family. How dare she go to Florida to visit my brother and his family? Doesn’t she know they won’t make her do laundry, cook, and help wrap all their presents?? She won’t have any fun.
Well, it seems that I best go do some crunches, or squats, or curls or anything that sounds like it will inflict pain.