Today I started a twenty day writing event put on by WordPress. The purpose of this is to jog loose the stuff that wants to be written. I’ve been sort of prolific lately on my other, the teacher blog, but when it comes to just writing what I’m thinking about, I seem pretty vapid. I guess I’m only thinking about school lately, or it would seem that way. I know that’s not true, however. There is lots of stuff bubbling just below the surface, and I”m really good at ignoring it. So today’s exercise is to write for twenty minutes without stopping and then click “Publish.” So I will.
Alex is making cookies right now for his English teacher, in search of the ten extra credit points that will firm up his B in the class. He’s making his favorite kind of cookie, thumbprints with jam. When I came in he was whipping flour with an egg beater, because it said to beat with a hand mixer. The butter that would be mixed until fluffy with the sugar was melting on the stove. It made me laugh, realizing that the language of cooking is unique, and how dangerous it is to make assumptions. I set him straight, and his cookies will be delicious. He’s laughing hilariously through the whole thing. He is truly an enthusiastic learner. Sometimes.
I’m talking and texting in between paragraphs here. I bet that defeats the purpose of the exercise to a certain extent. Oh well. So, the thing that is on my mind lately, besides summer vacation and it’s reluctance to get started, is being fat. I seem to think about that almost every waking moment. I can say this fatness is something I didn’t want, and didn’t choose, but really? Really?? I did nothing to prevent it, and to this moment do nothing to prevent it still, even though it fills my thoughts incessantly. So I chose it. I did. I wonder why. It is a good way to make sure I stay single, apparently, and I think I did choose that, at least subconsciously. Fatness was my mother’s fear for me, it seems, since I was a child, when she and another family member not to be mentioned here used to joke and call me “big as a barn,” even though I was a slim child. Did I take that into my subconscious and see it as my destiny? Maybe, but really that was a long time ago. I’ve surely lived long enough to be past that, and if I’m not, that’s on me. Completely.
So, in the past many years, as I’ve never really been happy with the condition of my body, I’ve mostly ignored it, thinking my sloth and unharnessed appetite would never catch up with me. I have good genes, don’t you know? Every so often I’d do a spurt of gym workouts, or a diet that worked, but the benefits of any regiment I tried soon went away. I guess I was wrong about the good genes part being enough. If you live long enough I guess anything can catch up with you. I’m not liking it, not at all. And I’m tired of thinking about it all the time. I am tired of judging myself for being fat. I don’t judge others for their body condition, but I definitely judge myself. And I’m tired of it. I guess the question is what am I going to do about it? If anything. Let’s be real.
I am a woman of many pretexts and excuses. I am a procrastinator of the highest order. I will do everything later, tomorrow, next vacation time, when I retire, whenever, never. So. There it is, out in the open for me to see, and anyone else who happens to read this. My twenty minutes are almost up and I’m going to quit before I start making resolutions that I’m not likely to keep. Ugh. I hate talking about this. I think if I don’t mention it, no one will notice that I’m so overweight and judge me. Because of course I deserve judgement. Right? Wrong? Yeah. I know the right answer to that question, it’s just that I don’t seem to be able to pick it. And if I don’t pick it, I will surely regret it even more than I do already.