'Tis time for Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. Here is the prompt I've chosen this week:
Write a letter to whatever is stopping you from losing the extra weight you’d like to lose.
Hi! First of all, I think we know each other well enough that I don't have to call you by your full name (though I did include it in the title of my post today).
You know who/what you are, so I'm just going to categorize my beefs (pun intended), you all can sort out which one of you is to blame.
Let's just start with the entire category of Food: I can't give you up cold turkey, there's no future in it for me (or no future for me without you). But I gotta tell ya, some of you go around flaunting your delicious selves when I find myself feeling hungry or bored of emotionally vulnerable (oh don't worry, I'll get to MY problems soon enough).
Chocolate, you sexy chunk o' yumminess! Why must you be so, well, available? It cheapens you, you know - it makes you less special in my eyes, if I can just pick you up and have my way with you whenever I want. I wish you were not so easy to find.
Fried chicken, when you are all glistening in those TV commercials (and I just know that you're wearing that perfume I like...you know, Eau de Eleven Herbs and Spices?) It's heavenly! Anyway, you tempt me from afar, and I simply must have you. I am powerless to resist you if I am around you. Let me tell you, you are soon gonna be just a flash in the pan for me - let some other love-starved biotch caress your skin and inhale your scent. I am so done with you! And tell your friend french fries that I am glad I never got hooked on him - I hear he's a habit that is hard to break.
Desserts, we've had this love/hate relationship for such a long time. Just when I think I'm over you, I hear the tinkle of the ice cream truck, and all the memories of your creamy goodness rush back to me. I can't go to a grocery store without being bombarded with pictures of you at your best...you make my mouth water with desire. Oh, how I hate the pull you have on me!
I know I could forget all of you if I tried really hard, and found other healthier foods to have a relationship with. But I live with an enabler who brings you to me far too often. I know that The Mister says he does it because he loves me, and I do appreciate his efforts - but they undermine my health and take away my resolve to do better. I need to face facts - I'm married to a food pusher.
Now, let's talk about me, for a change. Mouth, must you open every time these loser foods come near your face? What happened to willpower, missy? And Taste Buds, you're not off the hook here, either. I'm gonna have to let some of you go - then maybe all this bad stuff won't taste so damned good.
Hormones, I'm just pissed at you. For months on end, I prayed to the menopause gods, and I thought my prayers were answered. But, NO! You were just playing with me - and I have the mood swings to prove it. When you leave me feeling all bloated and sad, I use my Food buddies as a way of self-medicating. I wish you, Estrogen, and your wench, Progesterone, would just hightail it outta here...for good! I don't need you anymore! I can just as easily buy KY (if you catch my drift), should "that" become a problem.
Creaking Joints and Arthritis, I hate your freaking guts! I can't even walk very far before you turn my hip and knee joint into an amusement park of pain. I hate walking like I'm one of the old ladies - if I had health insurance, I'd try to make sure that you were the first to go. You make it so hard for me to start and maintain any exercise program, even one that only involves walking in my neighborhood. You suck!
Ok, now one of the big causes - Psyche, get your ass over here and read this. First of all, you are so full of it - I do TOO deserve better. I AM worth it - I don't care what you say (but I can't resist you like this if Hormones are involved).
Hey, do you have some wires crossed? Am I the only human who wants to eat something big and greasy when The Biggest Loser comes on? WTH?
Metabolism, my love. Why do you fail me now? Now that I'm home all day, near FOOD, for God's sake! You go slower than a blue-haired lady in Wal-Mart's parking lot on Social Security direct deposit day (of course, if she could see above the steering wheel of that boat she's navigating, it might help)!
And if it weren't bad enough that Metabolism can't be counted on, we have her sister, Motivation, who is nothing but a worthless hag lately. Come on, sister! Kick yourself in the ass, then kick my ass in gear, too!
I know that I'm stuck with all of you, in some fashion. And if we're gonna have to live together, we have to figure out how to do that without killing me, okay?
Can't we all just get along?
But I'll tell all you all somethin' - if one more skinny biotch complains about how effin' FAT she is (oh yeah, all FIVE pounds extra pounds of her), it's gonna take more than all of you together to keep me from cramming a couple of dozen Krispy Kremes down her perfectly-lipsticked piehole. Got that? Good.