Fatty Fatty Two-by-Four

At first, I blamed it on the road. As in, being on the road. Not in an uber cool Kerouac kind of way. More of a semi-depressing Death of a Salesman way. Maybe something in between. I never thought I would need a Skymiles number, much less be applying enough flights to it to qualify for, like, discounts. But since April, I've found myself in Tennessee, Nevada, Utah, Alabama, D.C., Texas, Colorado and next month, Florida. Not to mention road trips - hello, live from Savannah.

The point is that it's easy to discount the calories consumed on the road - in airport terminals and from little snack bags on planes and from drive thrus and gas stations and in hotel rooms and at client dinners where you feel justified in ordering three drinks, half a cow and a piece of chocolate cake. Honestly, there's no such thing as real food when you're traveling. There is only the packaged, preserved and mass-produced or the food-coma-inducing indulgently rich fare.

After criss-crossing the country, it's little wonder that I started putting on pounds on pace with my frequent flyer miles. I'm working on the Mile High and Mile Wide Club.

But travel isn't totally to blame. Back at home, I've shunned my kitchen in favor of the Chick-fil-A not a mile from my house. I lunch, I brunch, I dine with friends - and every two or three meals, I make a restrained choice. The hummus plate. And then I counter that with how I deserve dessert in light of my reduced calorie meal. Brilliant. On top of that, I've made no attempts to prevent my egregious snacking habits, keeping cookies and chips and the like in the pantry. Nicking Gummi Bears from the dollar bin at Kroger and selecting movie-watching snacks to reward myself for choosing the Red Box over the actual pricey theater.

A few recent pictures, taken from the most unflattering side view, revealed my alarmingly inflated form. The unbecomingly rounding belly. The fleshy arms. The fat that's starting to gather around my face. I've assumed an overall doughy appearance - paunchy, soft, decadent. Pokable.

I probably weigh as much now as I ever have - I'm rather afraid of the scales, too horrified to know what I've done to myself. And as much as there's vanity, and believe me, there is, because, I'm being honest here. But there's also a great deal of shame in having let it go this far. The shame of failing to possess the willpower to shut my mouth. The shame of letting the depression about life to creep up on me and fuel this sorry sad appetite for destruction. Food won't make me happy - and whatever joy I normally take in eating good food is just perverted by this abuse. Even as I finished off the Double Stuf Oreos the other night, I wanted to cry. Because all that creamy goodness was headed straight for my already dimpled thighs. And because, well, I know better. I know I don't want to be on this one-way street to The Biggest Loser.

It's so much easier to remain prostrate under mounds of calories. To consume my feelings rather than deal with them. To viciously hate every new bulge while masochistically stuffing my face. But underneath all those calories and all that dissatisfaction, there's a part of me that is starting to claw against that soft fatty self and demand that we put an end to this.

So I finished the bag of Gummi Bears. And the Double Stuf Oreos. I bought some carrots. I bought some hummus. I'm keeping apples in the fridge. I'm on the road right now...I had McDonald's, and I know tomorrow is going to be some sort of artery-blowing dinner affair. I'm not going to make any ultimatums - no promises to myself that I can't keep. I'm not going to start some crash diet where I deny myself sugar and carbs and joy. But I am going to try to unshackle myself from helplessness...from cutting myself so much slack that I don't even participate in the choice. I'm going to reconnect that line between my mouth and my brain that The Sadsies unplugged.

And let's be honest: I want to be slimmer. I want my clothes to fit. I want to be more attractive for all the superficial reasons, to be one of the beautiful people. But as much as that, I want to respect myself enough not to let the heaviness in my heart be the heaviness on my hips.

Image via Christopher Boffoli's Disparity series

Miscellany & All That Jazz

* Today I bought a pair of sunglasses at the same time I bought underpants featuring characters from Cars for Dillon. I felt compelled to explain to the cashier that they were for my nephew because I don't have a kid so these aren't for my kid that I don't have, but instead, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that no one cares but me.

* I bought a house two month's ago that I'm still not living in because I can't move Kudzu at the moment. It's now serving as the world's most expensive storage unit.

* Dillon asked me yesterday why I wear glasses. He found it delightful that "my peepers don't work right." I'm pretty sure I set him up to say that to a stranger in an embarrassing manner before long.

* As I've unpacked items at the *new* storage unit, I've found pictures from 3, 5, 10 years ago. And no matter how recent or distant from present, they all seem like lifetimes ago.

* I'm wondering if it would be taking advantage of the intern to allow him to mow my lawn. He says he likes yard work, and I'm pretty sure that I'm not gonna.

* I've had a spate of Facebook invitations from people I obviously went to high school with but of whom I have absolutely no recollection. And I'm pretty sure I'd remember someone who went by "Jeff Bo."

* Lately, I've dreamed a lot about travel. It reminds me how reluctant I am to take the time, spend the money, make the leap. And so I just stay put and dream.

* How long does it take for water to go under the bridge? I mean, are there just people/relationships/occurrences that you have to let go? But let go in a float downstream unresolved kind of way? And not in the we can be friends kind of way?

* Is it worth it to keep the big fat box of skinny pants? Or should I just accept my fatness.

* In my office of eight, five are women. In the last six months, one got married, and three are engaged. One is pregnant.

* I want some banana pudding.

* Kudzu is in my lap and purring, and I don't want to move him so I may just sleep crooked on the couch.

* I am stupidly excited that the AP Stylebook finally relented and made "website" the correct spelling over the historic "Web site."

* One of my favorite clients took another job in another state. I won't miss the mild sexual harassment, but I will miss a client that curses like a sailor and laughs at my jokes.

* I named a microbrew by a local brewery in town. It's one of my greatest professional accomplishments.

* Lately I've encountered people who remind me of my hopeless quest to be a cool kid and the hopelessness of it. Because, let's face it, there will always be cool kids. And I will never be one of them.

* Friday I ate a blood orange "handcrafted popsicle." I'd like another, please.

* One of the signs that Kudzu's anemia might be worsening is if his tongue gets pale. I never thought I would have such a high per diem of saying "His tongue looks pretty good."

* Right now, my mother's cat is asleep on my right toes - just the little one and the one next to it. His breath is tickling my foot.

* Reese says "hi" in the most charming manner - just a sing-song "hiiiiii."

* I have to go to bed now and pretend that I'm going to get up early and make it to work even before I'm supposed to be there to catch up on work. I have such a good imagination.

Principles

Last night, my friend Tommy treated me to a belated birthday dinner.

Waitress: Do you want to see the dessert menu?

(Tommy looks at me inquiringly.)

Me: Um, yes. I'm fat, not dead.