sempre.

I’m tired of coming in second in people’s lives. Or, to be more accurate, last. I’m talking about when I make plans with someone and then they make plans over ours and then flake. 

I have a friend who is an LA fan. Last week when my mom told me that she’d be out of town camping for game five (if there was one), I asked my friend if he wanted to come with me. Free ticket to see his team. He said sure, barring any unforeseen complications like having to stay late at work. 

So today the Coyotes win and I’m SUPER excited about game five. I email said friend a picture of the final score and a “See you on Tuesday!”. He responded with “Nice!” and I said, “So, Tuesday?” 

Now, I get that it seemed highly unlikely that the Coyotes could pull out a win. Nobody expected it. But even if that were the case, if you were making plans for the week and someone suggested something on a day when you already have plans, wouldn’t you tell that person, “As long as such-and-such doesn’t happen, sure”? 

Instead, the response to “So, Tuesday?” was not “Heck yeah!” but rather “Let me check a couple things. I wasn’t to go but wasn’t really expecting to. Lol”. First of all, I don’t find that amusing. I never find it amusing when someone makes plans with me and then when I confirm am placed on a waiting list. Second of all… Well, there’s no second of all. 

And yes, I DO understand that it wasn’t likely to happen. But our tentative plans still come first in the order of tentative plans list. If the Coyotes bring it back home, we go and his other plans are put on hold. They don’t, we don’t go and he goes and does whatever. Or just tell me outright that you have other plans so you can’t go (WHEN the plans are made, not when I check in to see if we’re still on). I’m talking common courtesy here. 

Then the feeble “I’m concerned about the price of parking because I’m kinda broke” line. Parking’s free and, at most, would be $10 at any sporting event around town. After telling him that there’s no cost to park, I awaited the next excuse. Surprisingly, it didn’t come.

Anyway. He’s going with me. Now I’m kind of annoyed and don’t want him to. It’s petty, yes. I’m aware. But I’m just so tired of being the one that people are so very willing to discard. 

I love my mom. I simply…do.

Unsurprisingly, I’ve let things get wildly out of control. Again. Yet again.

The reasons excuses are endless, but it boils down to having absolutely zero handle on my emotions and my completely mindless eating. I quit my job. I feel like a failure. I eat. Rather than taking advantage of the boundless time in my day to do things like plan meals and exercise and do things that make me feel productive and accomplished, I…eat. And sit around. I get things done, sure. Sometimes. 

Since sometime in March, I’ve gained 17 pounds. I am at the highest weight I’ve been in three years. I feel disgusting, disgusted, angry, frustrated, irritated, embarrassed. When the hell did I become this person? I had things going in the right direction for two years. And then I didn’t just slow down and come to a stop. No. I slammed into reverse and my weight shows it, my body shows it, my emotions show it. 

I get married in 159 days. I know that people will be taking pictures. Hell, I want there to be pictures. But I do not want to see myself in any of them. I know myself well enough that I am 100% sure that having to pose for a single picture would ruin everything for me. It’s shallow. I don’t care. But I can’t very well ban the stupid cameras, can I? 

And so today — again; yet again — I start over. I count calories. I choose my foods wisely. I ignore the OCD-like compulsions to have any of a dozen crappy foods. I push through the poking feeling in the middle of my brain telling me to give in, that I can start again tomorrow or the next day, that there’s still plenty of time to get my shit together. 

Because there’s not. 

Yes, yes, if I indulge, I can pick up again once the binge is over. But I am so tired of starting over. From now on, if I cave to a craving, that will be the end of it. It won’t lead to “well, I’ve already fucked up for the day, might as well make it count”. Instead, I’ll count the calories as best as I can and go from there. 

Exercise. I managed only 15 broken minutes of the 30-Day Shred today. I get that it’s meant to pretty much break you, but really all it managed to do was break my spirit, my enthusiasm, my steadfast intention of making it through, even if it killed me. Instead, I was so disgusted with myself and the arches of my feet were in so much pain that I stopped just shy of a charley horse and on the verge of hysterical tears. Not at the physical difficulty but at the hopelessness I felt. The sudden crystal-clear realization that I am fat and I will be fat — and only get fatter — until I die. 

Obviously that’s not the case. But that’s what my brain was screaming at me. I can’t do a pushup. Even a girlie one. I can handle the crunches. In fact, they felt surprisingly good. But the jumping jacks and the jumprope and the ass kicking all hurt my feet so badly that I couldn’t push through. I need to figure something out otherwise I’m not going to feel like I’m doing a damn thing to lose weight and get in shape, even if I’m eating right, and it’s going to derail me. I know myself. I know my weaknesses and I know what will ruin me. (Well, really, I am the only thing that will ruin me, but there are so many ways I can do it.)

And so. I have 159 days to drop some weight, lose some inches and tone up. And zero days left to start it all. And so it begins now. Calories. Movement. Water. 

Sigh. Just to clarify, the wedding isn’t the reason that I want to lose weight and get healthy and look better. It’s simply my current motivation. What I want and what I need to feel go so far beyond the wedding that, right now, I can’t focus on those things as attainable goals. But the wedding. The wedding has a date. The wedding has a dress (yet to be shopped for, let alone chosen, but a dress, all the same). The wedding has things I can aim for. Specific things. 

And go.