saint-louise's Diaryland Diary

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Consequences, shmonsequences...as long as I'm full.

Well, I’m back on the wagon again. Diet this and exercise that. Don’t eat such a thing, and limit your intake of that other thing that you might possibly sell your own mother (and would definitely pawn off a good portion of your extended family) in order to get just a taste of it. I say “limit your intake” instead of “say a long, heartfelt, and tearful good-bye to” because a good way to ensure that I will die a bloated (albeit happy) death by gorging myself on a particular food that I adore is to deny myself that food altogether.

Addictive personality? ME? For shame! Really. Try not to point out the obvious before anyone else has half a second in which to take a breath and point it out faster.

I’ve never been obese, or even close to overweight. Hence, I’ve never learned the fine art of portion control. After I was diagnosed with PCOS in my early twenties, I spent the next three years trying to find a magical cure. Not for the hormone headaches, or for the irregularity of my periods, or for the mood swings, or to lower my chances of getting diabetes. I wanted a cure for the sudden, quick weight gain, so I could continue to eat like a side-show freak, turn around in my willowy frame, and belch long and loudly, secure in my love of food.

But I found something out, eventually. Just so you know, in case you haven’t heard this yet…lean in a little closer…closer….

TURNS OUT THAT THERE WAS, AND STILL IS, NO MAGICAL PILL TO CURE MY FATNESS.

Weird, huh?

So I fixed myself up the old-fashioned way, clucking and kvetching over the inconvenience, as though someone out in the cosmos would overhear me and say, “Oh, uh…SHIT. Louise is chubby. I really should fix that for her.”

No one can say I didn’t give the Spoiled, Sluggish Lardass Fix (SSLF) one last, good try.

As I carefully balanced out my eating habits and added a reasonable exercise regimen to my schedule, I discovered that more often than not, my problem is not that I consistently overeat, but that I neglect, or entirely forget, to eat at all during the day.

Why? Get ready for this earth-shattering news bulletin:

Because I’m too lazy to go get food.[1]

A typical run-down of the whole pathetic process is as follows:

Stomach: I’m hungry.

Brain: You’re not really hungry. You’re feeling snacky. Get back to me when you’re actually in need of sustenance.

Stomach: Oh, okay.

(Thirty minutes later.)

Stomach: Hey, now I’m really hungry.

Extremities: We’re hungry, too. We’re getting wobbly.

Brain: Okay. Let me finish this email and make a phone call, and we’ll eat.

Everyone Else: Fine. Hurry.

(Thirty minutes later.)

Everyone Else: HEY. HELLO. WE NEED FOOD.

Brain: But there isn’t anything to eat that is nearby except for some M&Ms.

E.E.: What about the vending machine?

Brain: It’s all the way in the lunch room. Besides, we’re not supposed to eat that junk, and you know it.

E.E.: Just to tide us over. Until we can walk over to the deli and get a nice, healthy salad.

Brain: I don’t like the deli salads. They’re bleh.

E.E.: Okay, then we can drive up the street to that sandwich shop.

Brain: I don’t feel like going out in the cold/heat today.

E.E.: What the hell are you talking about?! It’s perfectly beautiful outside!

Brain: I don’t like our car. If I’m going to go out for lunch, I want to take a zippy, cute car.

E.E.: Listen to yourself! You’re sick. You need help. You need food. Eat the M&Ms. Some of them have peanuts. They have protein.

Brain: No. They’re bad for us. You’re starting to piss me off. And this email is pissing me off. And the color of these walls is really starting to piss me off. AND THE SHAPE OF THE LETTER “Q” IS SO LOATHSOME I COULD ERADICATE IT FROM THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE WITHOUT ANY REMORSE RIGHT NOW. HAHAHAHAHA!

E.E.: EAT! EAT! WE’RE GETTING LOW BLOOD SUGAR!

Brain: (flat-lined)

E.E.: Oh, my god! We’re all doomed!

(Three hours later, at home, Louise eats her refrigerator, three neighborhood cats, and the credenza, because the “caramel” wood coloring sounds yummy.)

Bladder: Hey, um…do you think you could empty me any time soon? Please?

All things considered, it’s a miracle that I’m able to get around at all without my Rascal, isn’t it?


[1] Yes, I’ve started bringing snacks with me to work so I actually eat, and eat good things. I usually suck down a yogurt, a power bar, and three pieces of fruit as soon as I sit down at my desk in the morning, and then I end up in a hypoglycemic coma under my desk by noon.

I’m getting better at this. Really.

4:10 p.m. - 2005-01-03

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