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You and I Both Know How This is Gonna End

It’s nearly 9 pm. The boy is in bed, the girls are finishing up homework and will shower and go to bed. I have dishes to do and I really need to prepare stuff tonight for tomorrow because that’s what makes me rush around most mornings (seriously, self, how damn hard is it to just iron tonight, make your lunch tonight, switch purses tonight and stop acting like you decided at the last minute to switch when OH STOP TELLING THAT LIE; YOU ALWAYS KNOW THE NIGHT BEFORE).

None of that is the real dilemma, though.

The issue is whether or not I should lie down knowing full well I won’t get back up. It’s like a wretched game of self sabotage that isn’t even a game anymore. It’s just a purposeful lie I tell myself: you can sleep for just an hour. You’re so tired all you need to do is recharge and then you can get tomorrow’s clothes together and switch purses and find your left shoe before you’re running around tomorrow morning cussing at people about how nobody’s shit goes missing but yours and you just had that shoe.

It’s so illogical, this nightnap, yet you seem unable to be deterred from trying to make it work. Oh, sure, sometimes you do wake up when the phone starts barking like a dog (really, that one scares me awake) but rarely do you ever actually get out of bed and do allthethings you need to do. Instead you stay there, angry at yourself for once again letting you down. And then you do it again the next day.

I know what you’re thinking. Treat it like meal planning and get your stuff together on the weekend for the week ahead. And to that I say stop trying to use your brain; nothing good will come from it, Gladys.

I truly don’t know where this stupid idea originated. I could see if I took a nap immediately upon getting home a little before 6 because then I could be up by 7:30, but I couldn’t do that regularly since dinner is a thing that needs to be made (and I like to be the one who makes it on nights that I’m here). Maybe you’re thinking I should look into why I’m so tired to begin with. And maybe I’d remind you what happens when you think.


Oh, look at that. I’ll leave my copay with the receptionist, thanks.

What’re You Watching?

I don’t watch much tv. At one point, the only things I watched regularly were HGTV to yell at people complaining about wall colors and granite countertops and Food Network for Chopped where I would want to eat the food they cooked and could never figure out why I kept torturing myself watching it knowing that wouldn’t ever happen. Now THAT was a sentence.

Over the summer I fell into the Game of Thrones hoopla. I watched seven seasons in under three weeks. It was worth it.

When Scandal first started, I hated it. It was in season 3 before I tried again and ultimately enjoyed it. But I stopped watching the season before last and have no real desire to return to it. I started Greenleaf and really liked it but not enough to remember when it came on. Now that I want to go back to it, it’s not available on the OWN app at all, like it disappeared. Speaking of the OWN app, here’s a gripe: I pay for the OWN channel. That one channel actually makes me have to choose a higher priced cable package. Yet, the OWN app doesn’t recognize Verizon as a provider. It locks certain episodes of shows and you can’t watch via the app if you have Verizon. It’s bullshit. I watched Being Mary Jane until last season and now that its last season is approaching, I need to go back and watch what I missed.

The only things I’m watching with any kind of regularity (meaning I will probably not watch in real time, but I’ll catch up a day or weekend or so later) are Queen Sugar (dammit, Darla!), This is Us (dammit, Kevin!), and whatever the hell Chip and Joanna Gaines’ show is called. Is it shiplap? I will eventually watch season 2 of Stranger Things but I was way more excited about it before it was released than I am now that it’s available.

Man, I’m weird. I feel like sitting down to watch a show is wasting time that could be spent doing something else like folding laundry, putting away the folded laundry, cleaning the bedroom that so sorely needs attention. Yet if given the chance to actually do those things, they become less important. Lord knows this basket of clothes has been clean for a week. I’ve sat on the sofa and stared out the window too many times to count in the past week and not felt bad once for not folding it all. But the minute I turn on the tv, the guilt kicks in and all the clothes start screaming about how they’ve been languishing for a week. I never listen to the clothes, mind you. Here’s a thought: fold the clothes or clean the room while watching.

Nope. Never works. I need to pay attention.

So. What’re you watching?

Wait, weight?

How do you handle stress? I used to thrive in the workplace that seemed to be going under at any minute — all the activity, the busyness, the get ‘er done. Now? I am cowering at the idea of not finishing a project, ready to run from the office screaming if I haven’t finished something by a promised deadline.

I’m usually a stress non-eater, but lately, that’s been changing.

Remember this post from 2013? I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. In it I lamented being thin. In the four years since writing that, I’ve gained about 15 pounds. My clothes don’t fit. I’m going up sizes at stores I’ve shopped at since my early 20s. I’m both enjoying and hating it. I’m enjoying it because I still often feel like I’m pretending to be a woman because I’m not curvier. I’m hating it because the weight isn’t going where I want it to and because I sometimes don’t pay attention and my girls’ tinier-butted underwear gets mixed in with mine and when I can’t get them on I get mad because did I get bigger overnight? No, you’re just a dumbdumb. Take off your kid’s drawers.

It’s interesting, this slow progression of how I feel about gaining weight, how I was so determined and then eventually started shouting, “NO!” It’s not listening.

I started riding my bike to and from work a few times back in the summer in an attempt to be healthier overall, but to ultimately get a hold on what I considered Facegate: The Continued Efforts of My Face to Balloon Out. Oh, sure, people say they can’t see it, but I can see it, so just agree with me and let me try to reverse the root someone has obviously put on me. I wonder if someone has a voodoo doll of me. I’m generally a nice person, but who knows how others feel. There could be some ridiculously jealous person who is inserting a tire pump into the face of doll me and injecting air.

Oh, shut up; I know it’s what I eat and drink because Facegate is also, strangely, (insert ominous music) Stomachgate.

I enjoyed riding the bike, but I didn’t do it as often as one would think to show that I liked it. It was so freeing and I loved how people considered it edgy. Um, it’s just seven miles one way and mostly downhill in the morning, but OK. I’ll take your kudos because that downhill switches to uphill come time to return and the last hill is menacing as hell. I used to hear voices whisper from the woods: you’re never going to make it up that hill. Throw the bike into traffic and go eat some fries.

I stopped riding because I convinced myself it was getting too cold (that was true, just not when I started telling myself it was true). I am making other healthier choices, though, and I hope to start some sort of exercise class soon. I can’t wait for Face and Stomachgates: The Reversal.

I refuse to buy new pants.